


Holding Your Words In My Hand

by Diamond_Raven



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Amputee Bucky Barnes, Blind Character, Deaf Character, Deafblindness, Disabled Character, Domestic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Healing, M/M, Not A Fix-It, Physical Disability, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Recovery, Switching
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 13:10:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 96
Words: 459,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9325751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diamond_Raven/pseuds/Diamond_Raven
Summary: After being labeled a permanent threat to society due to the trigger words in his head, Bucky is facing spending the rest of his life in a cell. In a desperate bid for freedom, he comes up with a drastic proposal: he’ll permanently give up his sight and hearing.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [掌心中的話語](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10987842) by [hatetheworldforever](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hatetheworldforever/pseuds/hatetheworldforever)



> 1\. **This is NOT a "fix-it" story**. The changes Bucky undergoes are **permanent**. The themes of this story are about hope, recovery and strength, and there will be a happy ending.
> 
> 2\. This story assumes that Bucky was captured by the US government sometime after CA:TWS and that the government knows about the Winter Soldier’s crimes and the trigger sequence.
> 
> 3\. This story focuses on Steve and Bucky. Natasha is a recurring character and Sam is a minor character.
> 
> 4\. The graphics in this story have alt text attached to them. I include a lot of embedded links to the accessible items and research that feature in this story. If you are using a screen-reader and find the links annoying, you can read this story [here](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12322505/1/Holding-Your-Words-In-My-Hand) on FFN, which doesn't include any links/graphics. The FFN version is identical to this one, except all the explicit sex scenes have been changed to 'fade to black' scenes to comply with FFN's standards.
> 
> 5\. So many people have contributed to this story in some way and I want to thank all of them, but especially Royal_Ermine, Kawherp and Resourceress7.
> 
> 6\. I love comments in any size, shape or form and I love chatting with readers, so it means the world to me if you took the time to write me a comment if you enjoy the story!

*             *             *

Seven months, two weeks and five days.

He kinda misses being in cryo. At least when he was frozen, he wasn’t aware of time passing.

He didn’t get bored.

He didn’t feel the endless drag of every minute slowly ticking by.

Sometimes he deliberately stops keeping track of the time and the number of days, but that makes time go by even slower.

He can see the time on a red digital clock in the guard office, since it’s situated right across from his cell. He guesses that’s kinda lucky—the prison is a circular shape so many of the cells don’t have the eye line into the office that he has.

He can also see the date—the guards have a paper calendar hanging in the office. They use it to mark down their birthdays and the length of their shifts. One week spent babysitting the world’s most dangerous assassin in a tomb sitting on the bottom of the ocean, then they get rotated out for a two week break.

Bucky never gets rotated out, obviously.

His cell isn’t that bad. He’s got enough room to do some exercising and a small cot to sleep on. There’s a low wall that separates a shower area, toilet and sink from his cot. He can tend to all of his basic needs right in his little cell.

The furniture is all bolted to the floor, which Bucky thinks is a bit pointless.

Breaking anything in his cell is the furthest thing from Bucky’s mind. Nobody ever comes into his cell and he’s never let out. He has no doubt that if he breaks something, they won’t bother replacing it. He’ll be hurting himself more than them.

Trays of food are shoved through a small opening on the bottom of the door three times a day, but the rest of the door stays firmly closed. The guards are too scared to interact with him. Bucky assumes they’ve been told about the trigger words, but maybe they fear that other words could set him off. Maybe they fear that if Bucky did get triggered, he’d tear the cell—and them—apart.

Right.

Even when he was in prime physical condition, he couldn’t get out of this cell without his metal arm—which had been removed within hours of him being taken into custody.

And now, after seven months of meager nutrition and very little room to exercise, he’s shed a lot of the Winter Soldier’s bulk. Not that he couldn’t do significant damage to the guards, but getting out of the cell—no, that’s not something that’s gonna happen.

Whether or not he could damage anything or anyone is irrelevant anyway. There are four canisters of deadly gas on the ceiling of his cell. With a single push of a button from a guard, the cell will flood with gas and Bucky would be dead in seconds.

He has to admit they’ve got the whole security thing down figured out, but it makes for an incredibly lonely existence.

Thankfully, he’s allowed to read books, but not paper books. The guards don’t want to risk him triggering himself by ripping apart the book and creating the trigger words from the paper letters, so he’s got a little electronic device installed in the wall above his table. He can read the books that the guards load on it.

The nice guards will ask him what he’d like to read and then load some titles on for him.

The not-so-nice guards will keep the reader turned off.

Clearly, there are those that feel that the world’s most dangerous assassin shouldn’t be allowed to read books.

He has no idea if access to the books is something the other prisoners get, or if it’s something Steve fought for.

If anybody knows how much Bucky loves to read, it’s Steve Rogers.

Ironically, it was because of Steve that Bucky learned to love reading in the first place, so everything’s come full circle.

Whenever Steve was sick, Bucky would spend hours at his bedside (or right outside the apartment door if Mrs. Rogers deemed Steve too contagious), reading to Steve. When Steve was feeling okay, Bucky would help him catch up with school material, but when Steve was feeling terrible and couldn’t concentrate, it was Bucky’s job as Steve’s best friend to keep him distracted. Steve would get terribly jealous hearing stories about what Bucky was doing outside with the other kids in their neighbourhood, so reading to Steve was a better bet for keeping him entertained and distracted from his pain and nausea.

Bucky would grab whatever bits of newspaper he could get his hands on and take advertisement flyers off building walls and read them to Steve. It wasn’t much, but it was a distraction. They didn’t have money to afford even pulp magazines, never mind books, and the library didn’t trust somebody like him enough to let him borrow books. On his really lucky days, Bucky would find discarded pulps or books in trash piles, and as long as they weren’t dirty enough to be a threat to Steve, he’d bring them to the Rogers house and read them to Steve, then he’d give them to his sisters.

As they got older, reading became less of a pure distraction mechanism, and became a source of joy for both boys. When they were living together and had money left over at the end of the month (and none of Steve’s medical bills were too overdue), they’d spend 15 cents on a pulp magazine and read it together when Bucky got home from work.

From time to time, Steve would get hired by the owner of a used bookstore a few blocks from their apartment and he’d be allowed to borrow some of the older titles and bring them home to share with Bucky.

He still can’t get over the fact that he has access to hundreds of books with a swipe of his finger. After decades of struggling to get their hands on any type of book, this is amazing.

It’s almost strange having access to an entire book. Bucky’s used to books missing entire chapters, or even half the story. He and Steve would make up the missing portion amongst themselves, but now he can get from Chapter 1 all the way to the end without any missing, smudged or torn pages interfering.

It’s incredible.

But…

…spending day after day reading gets boring, no matter how great the story is.

His only real highlight is visits from Steve.

Steve is allowed to visit once a month. Bucky isn’t exactly sure why—he’s sure that Rogers fought them long and hard about it—but that’s the procedure at the prison.

Once a month, the prison rumbles and groans and lifts itself to the surface like it does once a week for the guard transfers. During visitor hours, the prison rises and then Steve comes in to the circular chamber. Sometimes there are other visitors with him. Presumably they’re there to visit the other inmates whom Bucky has never met or even seen. They give Steve a chair and he sits just outside Bucky’s door.

Bucky sits on the floor of his cell, as close to the door as possible without being zapped. Layers of thick glass, metal bars and shimmering forcefields separate him from Steve, but it’s better than not seeing Steve at all.

The glass is completely soundproof so none of the visitors can trigger him. The guards communicate with him through speakers in his cell, but Steve isn’t allowed access to those.

Bucky desperately misses hearing Steve’s voice.

He’s really mad at himself because he can’t remember the last words Steve had spoken to him. During their crazy attempts to dodge the governments of a dozen countries and SHIELD, they hadn’t had a lot of time to talk. Plus, Bucky hadn’t known during their last conversation—whatever it might have been—that he’ll never get to hear Steve’s voice again, so it wasn’t a conversation he’d tried to hold on to.

He’d been the one to turn himself in—negotiating a surrender in secret with Natasha, in exchange for immunity for Steve. He’d been so nervous on the day of the surrender and the whole process of turning himself in that he doesn’t remember what they’d talked about. He remembers he’d had to lie to Steve about the entire surrender—the punk was dead set on spending the rest of his life on the run. But after the third close call with stupid Stark and the rest of the idiots in the span of a week, and Steve being held together by bandages and stubbornness in a damp cave, Bucky had contacted Natasha and told her to arrange for his surrender, in exchange for Steve’s freedom.

She hadn’t been happy about it, pointing out how mad Steve would be, but she acknowledged that Stark wouldn’t ever give in and there was no happy ending to this particular story.

Despite the loneliness of his current situation, he doesn’t regret stopping the constant threat to Steve’s life. The punk may be unhappy with the current situation, but he’s alive.

The only thing Bucky regrets is having forgotten that last, precious conversation with Steve.

He remembers some of their other conversations during months spent running and hiding in motel rooms, abandoned buildings, cabins and caves all over the world—but not their last conversation.

There’s one conversation that Bucky does remember, because it had been life-changing. He and Steve had been hiding out in an abandoned barn near a small town in Canada, and within two days of them being there, a carnival had been set up across the road. Tents appeared, carnival rides had been built and then streams of cars arrived, bringing hundreds of visitors. Seeing the large ferris wheel carrying people up to the sky and hearing the delighted screams of rider on the rollercoaster brought back a lot of memories of Brooklyn and spending their summers at the fair at Coney Island. Smelling hot dogs and listening to the sounds of cheerful music playing made their homesickness even worse.

Then Steve had suggested going to visit the fair. There were tons of people there and nobody would pay any attention to the two of them when everybody had so many other things to focus on. Despite having misgivings about it, Bucky allowed himself to be convinced and they went to the fair. After buying their tickets and joining the crowds of people inside the fair grounds, they wandered around, eating food and gazing in wonder at the new types of rides and games they could see.

When Bucky had said something funny, Steve’s reaction of lightly smacking him on the chest was normal—but when Steve had leaned in and given him an affectionate kiss on the temple, Bucky’s good mood had vanished. Fear had immediately run down his back and he’d shoved Steve away from him, glaring at him. “The point is not to attract attention, Rogers! Remember? How long d’ya think it’ll take SHIELD to find us if we get arrested for being queer in public?”

Instead of the look of shock and fear that Bucky was expecting to see on Steve’s face, a huge smile lit up the punk’s face instead. “Oh, my God—I can’t believe I forgot to tell you! Buck, you’re gonna love this!”

And then he’d proceeded to tell Bucky that queer people are allowed to be affectionate towards each other in public now. At first, Bucky thought it was only a Canada-thing, but Steve had reassured him it was okay in the States too and many other places. Homosexuals were allowed to hold hands and kiss and hug in public without being arrested.

Bucky was so stunned that he’d just stood there, letting the crowd brush past him. “So…so if we were back home…if we were in Brooklyn, we could—”

Steve had nodded, that huge smile still on his face. “You could kiss me and hold my hand and nobody would arrest you for it.”

That wonderful news had lit up within Bucky’s chest, but the joy had been bittersweet. For the first time, he was free to openly love the man he loved…but now another part of his freedom was being threatened. He’d gained the right to openly love whoever he loves, but he was on the run and his physical freedom was on the line.

After he’d surrendered, he’d lost his physical freedom completely.

He doesn’t know who he’s annoyed so badly, but the irony of the situation is crushing. Through a bizarre set of circumstances, he and Steve are both young and alive in a time period which they weren’t supposed to ever see, and they get to live in a time where their love is no longer a crime…but Bucky has to spend these years imprisoned. And because Bucky’s suffering, Steve is suffering right alongside him.

They’ve both gained freedoms they never thought they’d get, but they’ve also lost freedoms they never thought they’d lose.

Some days, Bucky gets so angry at the whole thing. He’s never done anything wrong. He’s spent his entire life working hard to take care of the people he loves. He didn’t start the stupid war and he certainly didn’t choose to go fight in it, but he did his duty. All he’d ever wanted was to come home and get back to his normal life, but somebody somewhere decided Bucky Barnes doesn’t deserve a happy ending.

But whenever he gets angry, he reminds himself to be grateful for what he does have. SHIELD could easily revoke Steve’s visitor privileges, which would take away the biggest source of joy Bucky has left. Bucky’s also glad that they don’t have to hide their feelings for each other. Communicating during their visits is difficult enough, with the constant monitoring and the restrictions that have been put in place. At least they can be open about expressing their love for each other. Or at least—as open as the restrictions allow them to be.

Aside from not being allowed to speak to Bucky, Steve’s also not allowed to write anything. The government fears that Steve will write the trigger words.

They are right to be concerned.

Back when he’d first been captured, they’d done a lot of testing on him. Bucky hadn’t ever known—maybe Hydra hadn’t even known—that he could be triggered by seeing the words written down.

Him thinking the words to himself didn’t do anything, but hearing them or seeing them sets him off. It doesn’t matter if somebody else says or writes the words, or if he says or writes the words—if he could hear them or see them, he’d be triggered.

That’s when they’d decided that the only safe place to keep him is in a tomb on the bottom of the ocean.

When Steve had first started visiting, he’d talked to Bucky and Bucky had done his best to read his lips, which was completely unsuccessful. Bucky had no experience reading lips, and he wanted to catch every single one of Steve’s words, so not being able to keep up with the conversation led to a lot of stress. To his horror, Bucky had burst into tears in the middle of one of their conversations when he’d completely lost track of what Steve was saying. Steve had become alarmed and several frantic minutes had gone by until Bucky could collect himself enough to try to explain the situation. He pointed at Steve and then covered his mouth with his hand.

Thankfully, except where lip reading is concerned, the two of them had always had an easy time communicating.

Steve blinked a few times, then pasted a smile on his face and mimed zipping his lips shut. He switched over to hand signals and resumed his story, hardly skipping a beat.

They’ve stuck to the hand signals ever since, and it works pretty well.

He always starts by waving hello, which Bucky copies. Then Steve points to Bucky and then holds up two hands in a questioning manner. Bucky smiles and nods. He’s fine.

Steve narrows his eyes and mimes sleeping and eating.

Yes, Bucky nods, he’s been doing both. He’s fine.

Then Bucky points at Steve and repeats Steve’s motions, to which Steve also nods.

Bucky doesn’t really believe him. The punk’s looking a bit skinny and there are dark circles under his eyes. Bucky figures he probably looks the same, so they’re both lying to each other.

Then Steve tells him about what he’s been doing.

A circle made with his hands like a little shield means Captain America. Wrists touching and all ten fingers wiggling are Natasha, the Black Widow. They’re going on missions but Steve doesn’t tell him any of those details, he just tries to convey funny stories—who fell off something, who bumped into someone. The punk does really funny facial expressions.

Then he tells Bucky about the latest baseball games he’s watched. Bucky isn’t sure which baseball team Steve’s following—something like that is too difficult to convey with simple hand gestures—but he doesn’t really care. As long as Steve’s telling him something—anything—Bucky will enjoy every second.

Steve takes him through a few games, swinging his arms to mimic hitting the ball, stamping his feet to indicate running and reaching up to the sky to catch balls.

It always lights a warm glow in his chest knowing that Steve is doing his best to give Bucky his favourite hobbies back—as much as he can in the given circumstances.

Bucky nods, smiles and gives the occasional thumbs up to indicate that he’s listening. Sometimes the idiot gets carried away and his gestures get sloppy and too fast for Bucky to follow, but Bucky will flap his hand at him and frown, and that’s Steve’s sign to slow the hell down and do it again.

Steve always stays as long as possible, until the guards are urging the visitors towards the exit.

Then they both stand and try to paste brave smiles on their faces—although Bucky can always see the unshed tears in Steve’s eyes, and he knows he’s no better—and wave goodbye. Then Steve points at his own chest, rubs a fist over his heart, then points at Bucky.

Bucky does the same.

I love you too, punk.

Bucky stands close to the door, ignoring the heat of the forcefield on his face and watches until Steve disappears from view.

Then it’s back to long, boring days of exercising and reading.

*             *             *

The current guard rotation is composed of not-so-nice guards, so the e-reader has been turned off for two days. It’ll probably stay off for another five days before shift change.

It gives him plenty of time to think, because exercising can only take up so much of his time.

He’s starting to think that his situation is pretty stupid.

Does the government really want to spend money and resources keeping him in this prison for the rest of his life? He might live another seventy or eighty years, depending on how the pseudo-serum ages him. That’s a lot of money and a lot of resources.

Back when he was first arrested, Steve had arranged for a lawyer for him. SHIELD had fought it, the government had fought it, but Bucky had gotten a lawyer.

The lawyer had explained to Bucky that he couldn’t be held responsible for what he did while under Hydra’s control, which the government had ended up agreeing with.

His lawyer had told him that Bucky could probably negotiate his freedom by giving up information about Hydra.

Unfortunately—or fortunately—Bucky’s entire recollection of his time with Hydra is a collection of fuzzy, jumbled noises and colors. The last thing he clearly remembers prior to fighting with Steve on the helicarrier is chatting with Steve, two days before they left for the mission to capture Zola. So even if he wants to trade information for his freedom, he can’t.

But then the government took that option off the table anyway. He could be triggered at any time, making him a permanent threat to society. Regardless of what he had or hadn’t done, regardless of what he did or didn’t remember, he needed to be locked up for everybody’s safety.

Those stupid trigger words will keep him locked up in this tomb for the rest of his life.

He does agree that he’s a threat—they’d shown him video of what he had done to the testing room while he’d been triggered—but if that part himself were removed, shouldn’t that entitle him to freedom?

But there’s no way to deprogram the trigger words.

Or if there is, nobody knows how.

Maybe they can find somebody from Hydra who’s still alive who was part of the Winter Soldier program?

Bucky snorts. Right. Like the government would spend time and resources doing that for him. Steve would do it in a heartbeat, but Steve got into enough trouble when he was helping Bucky. Bucky had a hell of a time getting the punk out of that heap of trouble—he doesn’t want him to get into a new heap of trouble.

So deprogramming him isn’t an option.

So he’s back to only having the tomb as an option.

Whenever he ends up circling back to that conclusion, he gets an unbearable urge to cry.

He doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life in this tomb.

He left to fight a war in 1943 and the only thing he ever wanted was to go back home.

Then he fell off a train.

Then he was tortured and brainwashed by Hydra for seventy years.

Now he’s in a tomb on the ocean floor, where he’ll spend the next seventy years.

It’s so damn unfair.

Ever since he was drafted, the only decision he’d ever made for himself was to stay behind in Europe to help Steve and the rest of the Howlies. Everything else had been decided for him.

There _has_ to be another way.

There _has_ to be another option.

*             *             *

Steve pushes open the door of the small coffee shop and immediately checks the corner table. Natasha is already there, two cups of coffee and a plate of pastries on the table.

He makes his way over to her and drops into his chair. “Hey, Nat. Sorry I’m late. Debrief took longer than I thought.”

She makes a face. “Some things never change, huh?”

He takes a sip of his coffee. She firmly pushes the plate of pastries towards him. He shakes his head. “I’m fine. Not hungry.”

“You’re getting too skinny, Rogers. If you don’t care, that’s fine, but I care, and I know that Barnes must have noticed and he cares. You really wanna cause him extra stress?”

Steve gives her an unimpressed look, but takes a brownie. She smirks triumphantly.

“Well played, Romanov.”

“Oh, please. You’re such an easy person to read. Pretty much the easiest I’ve ever met.”

He throws her what he hopes is a withering glare, but dutifully takes a large bite of the brownie. “You know, I’m getting sick and tired of you and Buck teaming up against me.”

She smiles. “We only do it for your own good, you know that.”

“We were doing fine.”

They both know Steve isn’t talking about today.

She rolls her eyes. “The serum was barely managing to keep you alive, you were both running out of steam and you were both getting cornered more and more frequently. It was only a matter of time before you both got yourselves killed protecting each other. At least this way, you’re both alive.”

Steve snorts. “Are we? I keep confusing this new life of mine with being dead. They sure feel the same on most days.”

She lapses into silence and swirls her coffee in its cup. Steve finishes his brownie and she gestures at the blueberry danish until he picks it up and starts eating it.

“So? Mission went well?”

Steve shrugs. “Yeah. Went fine.”

She gives him a long look. Steve realizes he probably should have tried to sound more enthusiastic about it, but he’s finding it harder and harder to fake his enthusiasm for anything these days.

“You don’t have to keep working for SHIELD, Steve. You know that. Your immunity isn’t—”

“My immunity has nothing to do with it but Ross made it clear—if I want him to do favors for Bucky, I gotta keep working for him. I stop working for SHIELD, suddenly they won’t let him read anymore, won’t give him desert or they won’t let me visit anymore. There’s only so much I can do to help make his life better, I’m not taking the risk that he loses any of that.”

She sighs softly. “I wish I could do more to help you two.”

“It’s not your responsibility, Nat. Life decided Buck and I deserve to have these cards, so this is what we get.”

“You’re my friend, Rogers. I don’t have many of those and I’m not too familiar with how the whole thing works, but I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to be trying to help you. And Barnes cares about you way more than your stubborn ass deserves, so he’s okay in my books too.”

Steve smiles. “You _are_ helping, Nat. You can’t get Buck out of that prison and you can’t do anything about Ross being an ass.”

She purses her lips. “I never said I can’t get—”

Steve glares and puts down his danish. “No, stop. That’s not happening. If anybody decides to put their lives on the line to break Buck out, it’ll be me. I’m not risking anybody else.”

“You know Barnes would be mad. He risked a lot to get you immunity.”

“I’ve got immunity but I’ve got about as much freedom as Buck. The only difference is that my prison’s bigger than his. As long as Buck’s locked away, I ain’t free. I’d rather be dead than unhappy, and if Buck was thinking straight, he’d realize that.”

“So you’d rather have him mad at you the rest of your lives?”

“I don’t gotta make that choice right now, because breaking him out isn’t my first choice. I’m gonna keep looking for a way to deprogram those trigger words. Once I’ve run out of all options, then I’ll consider doing something more…drastic.”

He’d already tracked down every last Hydra survivor who had worked on the Winter Soldier program and gotten absolutely nothing useful out of them. He’d spoken to every doctor and psychiatrist who had experience in the field of brainwashing and trauma recovery, but none of them had ever dealt with something like this.

He’d also asked Wanda for help, but she refused to use Bucky as a guinea pig to do something she’d never done before. Not to mention the huge risk of causing horrific brain damage for both of them. Once Steve realized how much of a danger the whole thing was to Wanda, he’d dismissed that option.

Last week he’d met with Thor. If nothing on this planet could help Bucky, maybe something on Asgard could help.

“Did you meet with the big guy?”

“Yeah.”

Natasha leans forward and raises a hopeful eyebrow. “And?”

Steve snorts and tears a flake of pastry off the danish. “If he had anything good to say, don’t you think I would have texted you last week?”

“So he had nothing?”

“Oh, he had something. A lot of different somethings. The only problem is that all of it’s designed for Asgardian physiology. He asked the doctors and all of them said the risk of causing large amounts of damage were way too high.”

Steve sighs. “I’ll keep looking, but I ain’t gonna consider anything that’ll damage Buck’s brain. He’s been through enough. The last thing I want is to turn him into a vegetable.” He pushes the plate of pastries back and rubs a weary hand over his face. “I’m tired, Nat. I just wanna go home with Buck. That’s all I’ve wanted since 1944 and it’s looking like no matter what we do or how hard we fight, that ain’t ever gonna happen.”

Natasha reaches forward and squeezes his hand that’s clenched in a fist on the table. “We’ll keep looking. And when you’re ready to have a hypothetical discussion over how somebody would hypothetically break out of a hypothetical prison on the ocean floor, we’ll have that chat.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this chapter, there will be very few 'Marvel' elements in the story. Natasha and Sam will be recurring characters, and SHIELD will come up in a few discussions, but there won't be other Marvel elements. This will be a domestic Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes story.
> 
> Since I have no medical background, I kept the details of the medical procedures (surgery, recovery, testing etc) in this chapter very, very vague.

The answer unexpectedly comes to Bucky one random morning when he wakes up with a headache.

It’s a minor headache, nothing to be concerned about. Maybe he didn’t drink enough water yesterday.

But it still annoys him.

He decides to hold off on getting out of bed and grimaces at the bright lights beaming down on him. He glowers up at the lights and turns on his stomach, shoving his head under his pillow.

He presses his arm across the pillow, pushing it down and blocking his ears.

It’s a bit difficult to breathe, but the darkness is soothing. The silence is nice too. There’s never a lot of noise in his cell—Bucky rarely talks to himself, but the forcefield constantly hums from dust particles bouncing off it—and his headache is appreciating the complete silence.

He shifts a bit so his mouth is off the mattress and he can breathe.

His throbbing head starts to calm, soothed by the darkness and silence.

No stupid lights to bother him. No stupid humming to aggravate him.

It’s nice and dark and quiet.

He smiles to himself. If only life were like this all the time. He couldn’t see the trigger words, or hear them. Of course, he couldn’t hear Steve either—but if Steve hugged him and talked, he could probably feel Steve’s chest rumbling.

That would be nice.

Wait.

_Wait. A. Minute._

He releases the pillow and sits up straight, blinking at the sudden brightness.

He twists off the bed and goes to the door. “Guard? Guard! Can I talk to Secretary Ross? Please?”

He knows they can hear him—there are speakers in the cell. He squints through the metal bars and sees the guard lowering his coffee cup, frowning at him across the compound floor. He sees him press a button, then the guard’s voices is coming through the speakers.

“Why?”

“I have an idea. I know how I can get rid of the triggers. Well, not rid of them, but how I can stop reacting to them. It’s foolproof! Please? Can I talk to him?”

The guard looks bored, probably not believing him. He takes a sip of the coffee. “I’ll put in your request for a meeting.”

“Thank you. Thank you very much,” Bucky says, shooting him the most charming smile he can muster up.

There’s a good chance that Ross will never come, but Bucky will keep asking.

It’s not like he doesn’t have time to be a pest.

*             *             *

Ross looks extremely skeptical when Bucky explains his idea.

“Please, sir! You were at the testing! You know that I can only be triggered if I see or hear the words. So if we get rid of my sight and hearing, then I can’t get triggered.”

“There are ways to undo such changes with technology and surgery, Mr. Barnes.”

“I wouldn’t. I swear—I wouldn’t. It would be permanent. You can check every single day if you want.”

Ross blinks at him. “Are you feeling alright, Mr. Barnes?”

Bucky laughs—it’s an ugly sound. “Why? You think I’m crazy? How’s my idea any crazier than keeping me locked up on the ocean floor for the next eighty years? At least with my idea I get to feel the sun on my face and I get to have human contact.”

“You have no idea what you’re actually proposing.”

Bucky wants to punch the man—or his cell wall—, but he needs to stay civil if he wants him to stay. “I know exactly what I’m proposing, Secretary Ross! This—” he throws his right arm around himself, indicating his little cell. “—is hell and I would rather kill myself than keep living it. I thought those were my two options—death or this cell.” He’s breathing hard and he’s on the verge of tears.

He wants to get out of this damn cell!

He deserves to have his life back. It’ll be a different life, but anything is better than this.

He takes a deep breath and tries to remain calm. Ross has never cared about him personally and probably won’t be swayed by Bucky’s frustration.

“My idea is better than either death or keeping me locked up. Besides, I’m not charged with anything, I’m not technically a prisoner. My lawyer told me I have rights. Doesn’t that mean I can make decisions for myself? And as long as the public’s safety is my number one concern, doesn’t that mean you have to take my decision into account?”

Ross stares at him for a long time, probably waiting for Bucky to take it all back, but Bucky keeps his gaze steady.

“I’ll have to consult with other individuals before this can go any further, Mr. Barnes.”

“Will you be back?” Bucky demands.

“Mr. Barnes, believe it or not, you’re not our only priority. In fact, currently, you’re not a priority at all.”

“I understand, sir. But you’ll discuss it and come back?”

“We’ll see.”

*             *             *

Ten months, three week and five days.

That’s how much time passes between Bucky’s cell door closing and opening.

First, the forcefield flickers off. Then the metal bars slide away, and the glass door slides up—and Bucky’s staring through an open doorway.

There are fifteen guards outside the door, all of them with weapons pointed at him.

“Turn around and walk backwards towards us. Slowly.”

Bucky obediently turns around and shuffles backwards, out of his cell.

Goodbye cot. Goodbye toilet. Goodbye shower. Goodbye sink. Goodbye floor.

None of you will be missed.

He steps over the door’s threshold and is told to get on his knees with his hand up. Two guards step forward and work on cuffing him, while the others fan out around him. They lock a thick metal band around his waist and snap a cuff around his right wrist. His right hand’s pulled behind his back and attached to close to the left side of his body. His right shoulder begins aching right away from the awkward angle—but it guarantees he’s not going to be trying to get out of the restraint. They chain his feet together so he can take small shuffling steps, but there definitely won’t be any running happening.

He doesn’t care about the restraints. Running is the furthest thing from his mind. Steve would follow him, and he’s not starting that mess again.

He can see Secretary Ross standing outside of the circle of guards, watching him silently.

Bucky’s still wearing the prison’s blue jumpsuit and nobody offers him a change of clothes. He doesn’t mention it—he’ll probably have to get changed when he’s at the hospital anyway.

“On your feet.”

He gets up and slowly starts shuffling forward when given the order to do so. He struggles to keep the smile off his face as his feet carry him farther and farther away from that damn cell.

They load him into a helicopter where additional restraints are attached to his neck, chest and legs. He can’t move anything except his eyes. His right shoulder is aching.

But that’s all fine. He’s out of his cell and he’s not ever going back.

The helicopter starts up and lifts off the ground, carrying Bucky away from the cell. That’s all that matters.

It’s disorienting to be in the air and surrounded by so much noise and stimulation after months of monotonous boredom, but Bucky doesn’t let himself dwell on that. This will all be worth it, he’s sure.

They’re in the air for a long time. It gives Bucky some time to think. Surprisingly, he doesn’t dwell on the surgery, but instead, he’s trying to stamp down the guilt that’s been plaguing him for the past three months—three months which included three visits from Steve, none of which involved the slightest hint from Bucky about his plans.

He knows the punk would have protested. Steve has always held on to the hope that something will happen at some point that will magically fix all of this. But since neither his lawyer nor Steve have ever presented any plans of their own, Bucky knows his way is the only way.

Well, it’s the only legal way.

Back when he was first arrested, he’d told Steve that under no circumstances did he want Steve breaking him out. He was sick and tired of making Steve a fugitive and Steve deserves better than living a life on the run.

That doesn’t mean Steve will agree with him. Stubborn punk will probably fight and argue about this for years to come.

That’s okay. As long as he’s arguing and fighting with Bucky while Bucky’s by his side, enjoying the sunshine, Bucky couldn’t care less.

It was very hard to keep his mouth shut during their last visit.

Bucky knew it would be the last time he’d ever see Steve’s face. It hit him when the punk made a face of exaggerated despair as he mimed a missed baseball catch. He watched every tiny expression on Steve’s face, trying to commit them to memory.

When it was time for Steve to go, Bucky nearly broke—nearly begged for more time, just so he can spend more time looking at Steve—but he managed to stay strong.

His last memory of Steve was watching him wave goodbye, gesture that he loves Bucky, and seeing him walk out of the prison.

He takes a deep breath, not allowing himself to cry.

He’s fine. Well, he _will_ be fine. Soon, he’ll be a free man and he’ll get to hug Steve for the next eighty years without letting go. It’ll be worth it.

All he has to do is hold on to that last memory of Steve and it’ll be fine.

But—

“Secretary Ross? Sir?”

Ross is typing on his phone and isn’t looking at Bucky. “Hmm?”

“Can you—uh, can you do me a tiny favor?”

Ross’ eyes slowly rise from his phone to stare at Bucky incredulously. “Mr. Barnes, you don’t get to make any demands.”

“Can you show me a picture of Steve? Please? So I can see him one more time?”

Ross sighs, annoyed. “You saw Rogers two days ago.” He’s already gone back to his phone.

“No, I mean, Steve from before. Steve before—before the serum. Before Captain America.” He says. “Please? I won’t ask for anything else, I promise. I’ll be quiet as a mouse for the rest of the trip. Please.”

Ross sighs again, making sure Bucky knows he’s really annoyed now. He types on his phone. “There are only pictures of Captain America.”

The guard next to him is looking over his shoulder, watching him type. “Boss, you’re not using the right keywords.” He pulls out his own phone and types on it, then turns the phone to face Bucky.

“This okay?”

It’s a picture of Steve at one of the army recruitment offices from 1943. It looks like it’s just a random photo—probably somebody from a news outlet had been doing a story about the war and only later realized who it was that he’d taken a picture of.

The skinny punk’s wearing his best white shirt and Bucky’s suspenders, cause his own were frayed and didn’t look so good. His hair is the usual mess and he’s got a stubborn frown on his face—probably cause he just got rejected for the hundredth time.

It’s perfect.

Bucky stares at the picture and burns it into his memory. Then he nods at the guard. “Thank you.”

He nods at Ross. “Thank you, sir.”

Like he promised, he keeps his mouth shut for the remainder of the trip.

He’s busy flipping back and forth in his mind between the image of Steve at the recruitment office and Steve’s last visit.

Even if he forgets how everything else looks, he doesn’t want to forget either of those images.

He’s so focused on those images that he forgets to feel nervous about what’s going to happen.

He thinks about Steve’s face and calmly follows all order that he’s given. They transfer from the helicopter into a van. Then they transfer into another van. Then they’re in the underground parking lot of a medical facility and Bucky’s being escorted inside.

Bucky has to sign a bunch of papers and has to change into medical scrubs. Then he’s told to lie down and they strap him securely to the bed. Again, the only things he can move are his eyes.

Then the doctors are allowed inside and it’s explained to him that they’re going to sedate him.

“Okay,” Bucky says. He realizes he’s been staring at Ross, who’s standing by the door and keeping an eye on everything.

Bucky shifts his gaze so he’s looking out the window, at the beautiful sunshine streaming into the room. He can see the branches of a tree close to the window, and blue sky beyond it.

The blue sky is the last thing he sees.

*             *             *

It’s night time when he wakes up. His head feels thick and fuzzy and he remembers he was put under. It’s also eerily quiet.

Usually when he wakes up in a medical facility, there’s the beeping of machines and the voices of the doctors. Now there’s nothing.

Well, it _is_ night time, so maybe they only have a small crew working? And he feels fine, so maybe they decided to turn off the machines?

He blinks a few times and realizes his tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth. He peels it off and dry swallows a few times. Jesus, he’s thirsty.

He tries moving his arm to see if there’s water nearby, but finds that it’s still restrained. In fact, when he tries shifting around, he realizes he’s still fully restrained.

Great.

He opens his mouth. “Water,” he says.

Only—

He doesn’t say anything.

No sound comes out of his mouth.

He frowns. He shifts his jaw around and runs his tongue along his teeth and lips. His mouth is dry and his lips are chapped, but everything seems to be in order. He’s not gagged. He should be able to talk normally.

“Water,” he says.

Nothing.

What the hell?

He can feel his mouth moving and he knows he’s saying ‘water’. He knows he is. He’s not an idiot. It’s a word he’s said a million times in his life.

“Water,” he tries again.

Still nothing.

He’s about to start really freaking out, when out of nowhere, something is shoved into his mouth.

He clamps his mouth shut on instinct and the thing bumps into his teeth, having gotten between his lips.

It’s a plastic straw.

But where the hell is it coming from? It’s so damn dark in the room that he can’t see the straw or anybody holding it.

But he really _is_ thirsty so...

He takes a few cautious sips. The cool water tastes fantastic and soothes his dry throat.

As he drinks, he keeps looking around, trying to see where the straw is. He crosses his eyes, trying to look down to where the straw is coming out of his mouth. Even in the darkness, he should be able to see something. Maybe just a faint outline…

But there’s only darkness.

The straw is pulled back before he’s had his fill, but he knows hospitals have funny rules about that sort of thing.

“Thank you,” he says.

Or tries to say.

His voice still isn’t working.

Or is it?

How did that person know he wanted water when he didn’t say anything?

Suddenly, he feels a hand on his leg and his heart leaps into his throat. If he weren’t strapped to the bed, he would have jumped straight off the bed.

What the hell?!

He lifts his head—huh, they must have removed his head restraint—and glares down at the person touching his leg, but there’s nothing but darkness.

“Can somebody turn on the damn light?” he asks.

Then sighs—because again, he didn’t make a sound.

Great.

“Lights, please,” he says as loudly as he can.

Nothing.

Jesus. What kind of sedation did they give him?

Wait.

Sedation. Why did he need to be sedated?

They did a procedure…?

Yes, they did a procedure.

They let him out of the cell to do the procedure.

What procedure?

Come on, brain. Think!

He remembers seeing the picture of Steve at the recruitment office when he was in the helicopter. That picture is important.

It’s also important to remember how Steve looked during his last visit.

Why?

He gets to see Steve once a month and the punk pretty much always looks the same. Why is it important to remember what he looks like?

Suddenly hands are on his head, touching his forehead and smoothing a strap over it. He nearly jumps out of his skin and lets out a surprised shout.

Only—he doesn’t.

There’s no shout.

Whatever.

The mysteriously dark clothed person who gave him the straw and touched his leg is now reattaching the restraints to his head.

Okay, now he’s back to only being able to blink and move his eyeballs.

Whatever. Back to the original problem.

It has to do with the trigger words, he remembers that much.

His freedom in exchange for….

For….

For….

Something.

Great.

Jesus, Barnes. Make your brain start working!

He wants to ask the mysterious dark person who’s in the room with him about the procedure, but figures it’s useless—his voice doesn’t work.

Or does it?

How did that person know he wanted water?

Also—what if there’s more than one person here in the darkness? With these people’s ability to blend into this darkness so well, there could be fifty of them in here with him.

He glares into the darkness.

Then he remembers he still doesn’t know what happened here. Barnes, stay focused, damn it!

And just like that, the fog seems to lift from his mind and it all comes back to him.

He came up with a way to avoid being triggered permanently.

Ross had agreed that the government would release him if he went through with the procedure.

He would never have to go back to that cell.

He could enjoy the sunshine and Steve’s hugs.

The only thing he’d have to give up is—

Oh my God.

Oh my God.

_Oh._

_My._

_God!_

He blinks rapidly and his stomach lurches as he comes to the sudden realization that it’s not night.

No.

It’s.

Not.

Night.

He blinks but there’s no change in the darkness.

He—he’s blind. His eyes are still there but they aren’t doing anything except blinking.

Shivers run up his spine as he realizes that there could be a hundred people in the room with him and he wouldn’t know.

He marginally calms when he realizes that if there were a hundred people in the room with him, at least he could hear them.

Except—

Oh my God.

The silence. The complete silence.

It’s not because the room’s silent.

He’s never encountered such absolute silence before, especially in a medical facility.

That’s because such silence doesn’t exist in the world.

It only exists in Bucky’s mind because he’s deaf now.

His heart is hammering in his chest and fear clutches his throat. He’s having difficulty breathing. He has no idea who’s in the room with him or what they’re saying or what they’re doing.

This was a terrible idea.

He’s such an idiot! How could he have thought this was good idea?!

He can’t see, he can’t hear—he’s not even a real person anymore, is he?

This was stupid.

So unbelievably stupid!

They can undo it, right?

Suddenly there’s a hand on his face and he feels cold things being attached to his head. He doesn’t know or care what those things are, but that means there’s a person here who can help him.

“Undo it,” he says.

Or doesn’t say.

Of course, now he understands: he _is_ talking (probably—hopefully) but he can no longer hear himself.

“Undo it!” he says louder (hopefully). He takes a deep breath. “Undo it!” he screams.

He knows he screams because his throat scratches a bit.

Suddenly, he feels a finger on his lips.

It’s the universal sign for telling somebody to shut up. Well, he’s not gonna. Now that he knows they can hear him, he won’t rest until they undo it.

He’ll go back to his cell and spend eighty years watching Steve mime out baseball games.

“Undo it!” he screams again.

The finger comes back, shushing him again. He bares his teeth and snaps at the finger. It’s yanked back.

Success!

“Undo it! I want—” He’s interrupted by a cloth restraint being fit over his mouth and snapped shut behind his head.

Damn them!

His heart is still hammering in his chest and he squeezes his eyes shut, forcing back tears.

He realizes it doesn’t matter whether there are people in the room with him or not. He’s alone.

He’s alone in this endless darkness and this endless silence.

This isn’t—he can’t—this—

This was stupid.

He’s so stupid.

*             *             *

Cheng tries to lean against the wall behind him without making it look like he’s leaning. He’s been standing here for five hours without a break, watching Barnes sleeping off the sedation.

Why didn’t they bring more people with them so they could trade off more often? Stupid planning.

He looks across the room at Thompson, whose eyes are sliding shut for longer and longer periods of time as he leans against the wall.

“Thompson!” he snaps.

Thompson springs to attention and blinks rapidly, then tries to act casual. “Why are you yelling? You’ll wake him up. The doctor says he needs to wake from the sedation naturally.”

Cheng rolls his eyes. “He’s deaf now, idiot. He can’t hear us anyway. And keep your lazy ass awake. If I have to suffer, so do you.”

Ten minutes later, Cheng sees Barnes’ eyes blink open. “Heads up! Sleeping beauty is awake,” he says into his earpiece.

Barnes is fully restrained so he doesn’t do anything except blink and stare around.

After a few minutes, Barnes asks for water.

Cheng holds up a hand to stop Thompson from approaching. “Stay where you are. I’ll call a nurse.” He steps up to Barnes’ bed and ignores his louder request for water and pushes the call-button.

A nurse appears a few minutes later, right when Barnes asks for water a third time. She slips a straw into his mouth, which seems to startle him and he clamps his mouth shut.

“It’s just water, Barnes, relax,” Thompson mutters, rolling his eyes.

Cheng sighs. “And again: he’s _deaf_ , Thompson. He can’t hear you.”

Thompson rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

They watch Barnes sip from the water and the nurse removes his head restraint. Cheng steps forward. Stupid civilians. “Ma’am! Don’t touch the restraints!”

She steps back, holding the restraint to her chest and looking alarmed. “Sorry, sorry! You want me to put it back on?”

Cheng looks Barnes over. He doesn’t seem to be agitated or aggressive, so it’s probably okay to leave it off for now.

The nurse checks the machine read-outs and goes to the end of the bed to make notes on Barnes’ chart. Along the way, she brushes a hand on Barnes’ leg.

Barnes startles badly and snaps his head up, looking down at his feet where the nurse is. His eyes are moving around, darting from the bed, to the nurse, to the window, to his legs.

Cheng frowns. It’s impossible to tell if Barnes can actually see the nurse or anything else.

His question is answered a moment later when Barnes asks for the lights to be turned on.

They ignore him, even when he gets annoyed and yells for the lights.

Cheng smirks over at Thompson. “You gonna tell him to shut up? Gonna check how useful that’ll be?”

Thompson glares at him. “How about I tell you to shut up?”

There’s a commotion in the hallway and then Ross strides in, followed by three more guards.

“Cheng, Thompson, retain your positions. The rest of you, fan out in the room. I want him covered from all angles,” Ross says, all business. He frowns down at Barnes. “Why is his head restraint removed?”

The nurse had backed into a corner when Ross had come barging in but she takes a hesitant step forward, the restraint still in her hand. Ross snatches it from her and hands it to a guard who puts it back on Barnes. Barnes lets out a surprised shout, but everyone ignores him.

Once the restraint is on him, Ross snaps at the nurse to get the doctor and to hurry up.

While waiting for the doctor, Cheng keeps watching Barnes.

He seems to have calmed from the surprise touch and now he’s glaring around the room. Like before, his eyes don’t actually settle on any of the people in the room.

All signs point to him not being able to see a thing.

The doctor comes in and starts doing multiple tests on Barnes. He hooks some machines up to Barnes and starts doing different things, checking for reactions and making adjustments on the machines.

Barnes seems to be becoming more agitated, but it doesn’t appear that the agitation is connected to the testing.

“Undo it,” he suddenly says.

They all ignore him.

“Undo it,” Barnes says again.

Nobody acknowledges that he said anything.

Then Barnes screams “Undo it!” and the doctor lets out an annoyed sigh and places a finger on Barnes’ lips. That doesn’t stop Barnes, because he screams it again. The doctor tries to shush him again, and then Barnes shows the first sign of aggression he’s shown in eleven months—he tries to bite the doctor.

The doctor leaps back with a surprised shout and two of the guards step forward.

“Gag him,” Ross says from the door.

A gag is put on Barnes and the restraints are double checked before the doctor feels safe enough to come back and continue doing the testing.

The doctor steps back. “Alright, the operation seems to have been a success. There seems to be full dual sensory loss.”

“Thank you, doctor.” Ross smiles tightly and gestures for the doctor and the nurse to step outside.

Cheng straightens up and adjusts his firearm.

Now comes the real test.

Ross has the guards check Barnes’ restraints again and places himself close to the door.

Cheng braces himself as Ross starts reciting the ten Russian words.

Cheng had been present during the initial testing that Barnes had been put through. He knows by the second word, Barnes usually starts showing signs of being triggered.

But there’s nothing. Barnes keeps staring straight ahead, breathing hard and still looking slightly hysterical, but nothing close to the blankness that would come over him as the Winter Soldier takes hold.

Ross slowly moves through the words and nothing changes about Barnes’ demeanour.

Ross gets through all ten words, and all of them wait, staring Barnes.

He fidgets a bit and seems distressed, but he’s obviously not been triggered.

Next, Ross pulls out a piece of paper and writes the ten words down. He hands it to Rigs, who has the unfortunate task of holding the paper above Barnes’ face so he can read it.

Only—he doesn’t.

He doesn’t even register there’s a piece of paper with those ten deadly words right in front of his nose.

They wait several minutes, but nothing else happens.

“Well, it appears to have been a success,” Ross says. He takes the paper from Rigs. “Take off the restraints that belong to us and report back to the van. I’ll finish up the paperwork and meet you in the van.”

Rigs removes the restraints from Barnes. Barnes startles at the unexpected touch but doesn’t struggle when he realizes the restraints are being removed.

Cheng waits until Rigs has collected everything, then he gestures for Thompson and everybody else to clear out. He goes last, keeping an eye on Barnes until he’s out the door.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the wonderful feedback! The next few chapters will continue being a bit depressing as both Bucky and Steve come to terms with their new reality, but I promise, there will be plenty of happy fluffy moments in future chapters. Like anybody who is thrust into a traumatic situation, it takes a while to see the silver lining in a cloud, and once he's found his footing, Steve will help Bucky find every single silver lining that exists.
> 
> "Hackie" is 1930s slang for a taxi or a taxi driver.

Bucky startles out of his panicking when the hands are back. He tenses, but relaxes when he realizes they’re removing his restraints.

He shifts his legs and arm, checking to make sure he’s really free to move.

Then he waits, not knowing when and where the next touch is coming.

Nothing happens for several minutes.

“If you’re not gonna do anything, then get out! I’ve done the procedure so now I’m a free man. You have no right to be in my room anymore!” he says.

At least, he hopes he says it.

He waits, holding his breath.

But no matter how hard he listens, he can’t hear anything.

How the hell will he know if they’ve left or not??

The darkness and silence that he’d found so soothing when he’d had that headache now seem vast and frightening.

He wants to curl up in a corner where he can properly defend himself against touching, but he doesn’t know where the corners are.

“I want everybody out!” he yells.

He desperately hopes they’re listening.

This is stupid.

This is _so_ stupid. Why the hell did he agree to this?

He realizes his bladder is aching and he needs to pee.

Great. Where the hell is the bathroom?

He’s on the verge of panicking, so he tries reasoning with himself.

It’s a small room, Barnes. Calm the hell down. There’s always a bathroom in a hospital room. He can get off the bed and find it. It’s not that hard.

He sits up in bed—then is immediately overcome with heart stopping fear.

Darkness. Complete and utter darkness.

He can’t move. He sits there, afraid to even shift. What if he falls of the bed? How high is the bed? Is there something on the floor that could hurt him?

He takes a few breaths. You’re being ridiculous, Barnes.

Get off the bed and find the bathroom before you piss yourself like a baby.

Clenching his jaw and swallowing his fear as best as he can, he runs his hand along the surface of his bed. Where the mattress ends, there’s a metal railing. He traces the cold metal railing until he reaches the end of it. That’s where he needs to get off.

He shifts his legs off the bed and slowly scoots his butt closer and closer to the edge of the bed, keeping a tight grip on the railing. He points his toes and prays, and finally feels the cold ground beneath his bare feet.

He plants his feet and slowly pushes himself to his feet. He’s still holding on to the railing, but he realizes he can’t take the bed with him into the bathroom.

He slowly uncurls his fingers from the railing, but as soon as he feels himself standing adrift in the darkness, the fear is back and he feels like he’s going to fall flat on his face. His heart is hammering in his chest and his hand tightens on the railing again.

He tries again, but again, the fear and disorientation overwhelm him as soon as he releases the railing and then he’s back to clutching it like a drowning man.

His heart’s hammering in his chest and he feels cold sweat prickling on his neck. He’s shaking so badly that he’s having trouble keeping hold of the railing. He can barely breathe he’s so scared.

He needs to pee so badly that he fears his bladder is going to give out any second.

There’s a tight lump in his throat and he feels tears slipping down his cheeks. Why can’t anybody help him?!

“Help me,” he says.

No, that won’t do. Nobody can hear that. He’ll have to be louder.

“Help!” he yells as loud as he can, then bangs on the railing for good measure. He can feel in his throat that he used a loud voice, so hopefully that’ll work.

Nothing happens.

Then, suddenly, a hand touches his arm.

He startles and nearly loses his grip on the railing.

His thoughts about his bladder are momentarily pushed aside. There’s a hand on his arm—but where is this person? Who is it?

Another hand is suddenly on his hip and he’s being gently pushed back to sit on the bed. For a moment, he doesn’t care who this person is, just that they’re trying to prevent him from getting to the bathroom.

“I have to pee!” he says. He repeats it twice more in case he’s not speaking loud enough.

He feels two hands trying to pry his hand from the railing. He resists, increasing his grip, but the hands are gently stroking his hand, encouraging him to let go.

Well…

Whatever the person wants, maybe if he gives them his hand, he’ll end up being allowed to pee, so he swallows his fear and unclenches his hand from the railing. He’s still shaking like a leaf.

The person takes his trembling hand and tugs him forward, off the bed. He follows along, shuffling his feet as he goes, terrified that he’ll trip over something. He’s too scared to take proper steps. He hopes he’s not hurting them, but he’s holding the person’s hand so tight that he can feel their bones grinding together. He can’t seem to make himself loosen his grip.

It seems to take forever. Then a hand is pushing at his chest, indicating that he should stop. His hand is pulled forward and he’s touching something cold and ceramic.

The toilet.

He’s so relieved, that he yanks his hand out of their combined grip, shoves down his pants and releases, aiming towards the toilet that he’d touched. He hopes like hell that he’s aiming right, but right now, it just feels so good to be able to pee.

Once he’s done, his hand is pulled under a stream of water. A glob of something sticky is dropped into his hand. Maybe soap? The soap in his cell had been liquid form, not the bar he was used to. He rubs the soap between his fingers, and his hand is pulled back under the water to rinse it off.

Well.

That wasn’t so hard.

As long as he’s standing still, he feels pretty okay.

The hands are tugging him out of the bathroom and he gets that tight feeling in his chest again. He clenches his jaw and follows along until his hand is transferred to the railing.

He carefully turns himself around and sits on the bed and lies back down. The mysterious hands pull up his blanket and squeeze his hand.

“Thank you,” he says.

The hands squeeze again, and a hard piece of plastic with a small button is pressed into his hand. He turns it over in his hand.

His hand—still holding the button—is pulled to the person’s uniform shirt. His fingers skim the rough fabric until he can feel the outline of a name tag.

Ah. The plastic thing is the call button for the nurses. He’d spent some time in a hospital before being transferred to the prison and Steve had explained some of the things that had changed in the last 70 years, including these handy little devices.

Well.

He’s not letting this thing go.

Ever.

He feels something being wrapped around his wrist, and when the person tugs the plastic thing out of his hand, he realizes it’s been tied to his wrist.

Smiling, he releases it fully from his grip, feeling it bump against his wrist. “I love you,” he says, directing his voice in what’s hopefully the right direction.

Next, his hand is pulled somewhere again, until he’s brushing against somebody’s neck. There’s a necklace hanging around the neck. The person brushes Bucky’s fingers along the necklace, as if she—he’s figured out it’s a she by the shape of her hands—wants him to memorize it.

It’s got large beads on it. They’re different textures and are separated by smaller beads. It’s a pretty distinctive necklace.

It’ll make it easy to identify her.

He wants to cry.

He has a friend. In this unending, terrifying darkness and silence, he now has a friend.

He pulls their clasped hands to his lips and presses a kiss to the back of her hand.

She squeezes his hand and releases it to gently stroke his cheek.

It feels nice. It’s what Stevie would probably—

Oh, my God, Stevie!

He’s about to sit up, but remembering his earlier panic, he decides to stay flat on his back. “Can—can you call Steve Rogers? He’s my friend and—and he’ll come help me. Please?”

The nurse squeezes his hand. Bucky’s not sure if that means yes or no.

“He—uh, I don’t know his phone number or where he lives, but he works at SHIELD. Can you call them and find Steve? Steve Rogers. I need him to come, please.”

Another gentle squeeze. Hopefully that’s a good sign.

Bucky can feel her pushing off the bed and he tenses, wanting her to stay.

She pauses and he feels the plastic call button being pushed into his hand.

He can call her if he needs help.

He smiles. “Thank you. You’re very kind. Please—please don’t forget to find Steve Rogers. I need him to come help me, please. Thank you.”

When he’s left alone—rather, he’s choosing to assume he’s alone—he feels a bit better about the whole situation. Now that he’s safely in bed, he has the call button by his side, and Steve is on his way, the darkness and silence don’t feel so bad.

Maybe, just maybe this won’t be worse than the cell.

*             *             *

Steve’s putting the finishing touches on his latest mission report when his phone starts ringing.

He checks the caller ID. Secretary Ross.

Great.

Steve hates talking to the asshole, but for Buck’s sake, he’s always on his best behavior with the man.

“Hello, Secretary Ross.”

“Captain Rogers. The Paris mission went well, I hear.”

“Yes, sir. I’m just finishing my paperwork.”

“Good. I wanted to let you know that James Barnes has been released from custody.”

Steve blinks. _What?_

“What?”

“I finished processing the paperwork this morning. He’s currently at a hospital in Manhattan. Now that the papers are filed, he’s no longer in our custody so we’re no longer covering his hospital costs. The hospital will probably release him within a few hours and in his current condition, he may have some difficulties once released. I’m letting you know so you can decide whether you’d like to involve yourself in the situation or not.”

_What?_

Hospital?

Bucky’s been released?

_Hospital?!_

“Was he injured? Did something happen at the Raft?” Steve asks anxiously.

“No, no. You misunderstand, Captain. He agreed to the procedure.”

_What?_

“What procedure?”

There’s an annoyed sigh. “Mr. Barnes found a way to prevent himself from being triggered. We completed the procedure and testing yesterday and I’m satisfied that it’s been successful. As per my agreement with Mr. Barnes, he is now a free man.”

Damn Bucky and his sneakiness! What the hell? He agreed to some sort of procedure without telling him?

“What procedure was this?”

“Permanent and complete dual sensory loss, specifically sight and hearing. He can no longer be triggered, thus, the government no longer considers him a risk to public safety.”

Sensory loss?!

“I—What?”

Ross sighs again, louder this time. “What part of this did you not understand? I’m a busy man, Captain Rogers, I’m already going above and beyond my responsibilities to let you know about the situation.”

“You—you made Bucky _blind_ and _deaf_?! You—you—are—you better hope it’s not permanent, you asshole or I’ll kill you.” He realizes he’s yelling. He also realizes he’s threatening a powerful member of the government.

He doesn’t care.

His heart’s in his throat and images are flashing before his eyes—Bucky with holes where his eyes used to be, sitting alone in a corner of a dark room, in pain and terrified.

“Captain, it was his choice. He was the one who requested the procedure.”

 _Choice_? The idiot thinks Buck had a _choice_?! “He had no choice!”

“He had a choice between imprisonment or the procedure. He made his decision.”

He’ll kill—

No.

No, he needs to stop this conversation with this stupid man and go help Bucky.

He takes a slow breath. “Where is he?” he asks, his voice shaking with rage.

Ross tells him the name of the hospital.

It’s close by. At least that’s something. Steve hangs up the phone, leaps up from his desk and makes it outside the building in record time. He doesn’t want to deal with signing out a SHIELD vehicle, so he frantically waves down a hackie.

He tells the hackie the name of the hospital and promises him an extra twenty bucks if he hurries.

They make it to the hospital in record time and Steve asks him to wait.

He races up to the front desk and demands to see James Barnes. The nurse looks at the time. “I’m sorry, sir, visitor hours don’t start—”

Steve wants to smash her desk to pieces—doesn’t this woman understand how urgent this situation is??—but he restrains himself. Barely. He forces a polite smile on his face. “Listen, he went through a very traumatic event yesterday and I know he’ll want to see me as soon as possible. Please. Just five minutes.”

She checks the computer. “He’s having lunch right now.”

“I’ll wait until he’s done.”

She tells him what room Bucky’s in and he tears down the hallway, frantically checking room numbers.

When he finds it, he skids to a halt, staring through the glass window.

Bucky’s sitting up in bed, staring at the far wall, but it’s clear from his face that he’s concentrating very hard. There’s an elderly nurse sitting beside him on the bed and Bucky’s got a tray of food on his lap. The nurse is holding Bucky’s hand and he’s holding a sandwich. They move their joined hands to Bucky’s mouth, he takes a bite, then their hands and the sandwich go back to the plate.

Every time Bucky’s finished chewing, he says “More” and the sandwich travels back to his mouth.

Steve quietly steps into the room, staring at Bucky.

The nurse glances at him. “Can I help you, sir?”

“I’m—I’m Steve Rogers. I’m James’ friend.”

She smiles but doesn’t take her focus off Bucky. “Oh, good. I assume you’re the Steve Rogers who works at SHIELD? He’s been asking for you. Did our social worker get a hold of you?”

Steve can’t take his eyes off Bucky. “Uh, no. I got—somebody else called me.”

Bucky says “Water, please” and the sandwich is put down and she wraps his hand around the cup of water. It’s guided to his mouth and he drinks.

“That’s enough,” he says.

He seems to be staring right at Steve, who’s standing at the foot of his bed, but there’s no flicker of recognition. There’s nothing.

Bucky has no idea he’s there. He can’t see Steve. He can’t hear Steve.

It’s the first time they’ve been in the same room without being separated by forcefields and metal bars in eleven months…and Bucky has no idea that he’s there.

Steve wants to scream.

He realizes he’s starting to hyperventilate. The nurse shoots him a glance. She has a nice beaded necklace around her neck. “Go sit on a chair outside, please. Now,” she says. Her tone doesn’t sound angry but there’s no arguing.

He lets his feet carry him out into the hallway and collapses into a chair.

He lowers his head and wraps his hands around the back of his neck, trying to calm down.

He wants to cry. He wants to scream. He wants to gather Bucky into his arms and hold him until everything goes back to normal.

And by normal, he means 1937.

He feels a gentle hand on his back and he struggles to sit up straight.

It’s the nurse. She looks worried. “Are you alright, Steve? I apologize I was so abrupt, I didn’t want to worry him by tensing up or yelling.”

“He—he had no idea I was there, did he?”

“No. I’m sorry.”

“Is—what—Jesus—I—oh, my God,” he whispers and then the tears come like a floodgate and he’s sobbing.

She sits down beside him and gently rubs his back. “It’s okay to cry, sweetheart. I can tell you care about him.”

“How—how did this happen?” he chokes out.

“I’m not clear on the details, honey. All I know is that James wanted it done. I think there was something dangerous going on and removing his sight and hearing was the only way to fix it.”

That doesn’t help.

“What do we do now?” Steve asks. The world has tilted and they’re all sliding off the surface into nothing.

She smiles. “First, I’m gonna get that tray off his lap and then you two should hug. I think you both could use it.”

Steve nods numbly.

He stays in his chair, staring at the floor until she appears by his side again.

“Okay, before you go in, let me tell you some important things. He can’t hear and he can’t see. You’re gonna forget that from time to time, but you’ll remember when he doesn’t react. Touch, smell and taste are the most important things in his world now. Especially touch.”

“He’s always—” Steve sniffs hard and clears his throat. “He’s always been a toucher.”

“He’s gonna be even more tactile now. If it makes you uncomfortable—”

Steve snorts, wiping the remaining tears off his cheeks. “No. I’m used to it.”

“Okay. The other thing: try not to cry. He’s overwhelmed right now and he’s still trying to get his bearings. The last thing he needs is to worry over somebody else. He’ll be able to do that later, but not now. Wipe the tears off your face so he can’t feel them.”

Steve pushes off the chair and takes some deep breaths, calming himself down and wiping his face off with his sleeve. It’s the first time his recent weight loss will be a good thing—his puffy eyes won’t stand out so much.

He enters the room and can’t help but smile when he sees Bucky sitting up in bed, looking out the window.

“Hey, Buck,” he says.

Bucky doesn’t turn towards him.

Steve frowns, confused.

Then he remembers.

Damn.

He steps up to the bed. Bucky still doesn’t react.

Steve doesn’t want to startle him, but he has no idea how to approach him. He decides to lower himself onto the bed like the nurse had done.

Bucky immediately turns to face him but his beautiful blue eyes are staring at the far wall—his stare completely vacant. Those beautiful eyes can’t see anything but darkness.

“Nurse?” Bucky asks. He's speaking way too loudly considering Steve is just a foot away from him.

“No, Buck. It’s me,” Steve says.

He’s debating how the hell to let Bucky know it’s him. Bucky solves the problem for him by reaching up and running his hand up his arm. He pauses at Steve’s shoulder, squeezing it.

“You’re not my nurse,” he says.

“No, I’m not, buddy.”

Bucky’s hand runs along the collar of Steve’s shirt. Steve realizes he’s probably checking for that necklace. He’s verifying his findings.

“Definitely not my nurse.”

Steve wants to cry. What if Bucky doesn’t recognize him? What if he never recognizes him and thinks Steve abandoned him?

But—but he promised he wouldn’t cry.

Bucky’s frowning at the wall behind Steve’s head and he’s running his hand up Steve’s neck and touching his face tentatively.

Steve watches Bucky’s face, looking for any flicker of recognition.

There’s nothing.

Bucky touches his whole face, skimming over his lips, his nose, his eyes, his hair, but there’s nothing that triggers recognition.

That’s when Steve remembers the nurse saying smell is also important.

Apparently he looks like every other guy in town—according to Bucky’s assessment at least—but hopefully his best friend of nearly thirty years knows his smell.

He reaches up to touch Bucky’s face, then realizes that’ll probably startle him. So he gently takes Bucky’s exploring hand and brings their clasped hands to Bucky’s face.

He brushes the back of his hand under Bucky’s nose.

Bucky frowns with confusion and leans away from their hands. “What are you doing, sir? Who the hell are you?”

Steve unclasps their hands and turns his hand so his palm is right under Bucky’s nose.

Bucky is still frowning, but all it takes is two sniffs before Bucky’s face lights up. “Stevie? Stevie?! Oh my God, Stevie!”

Like a switch that’s been flipped, Bucky exhilaration dissolves and he bursts into tears. Obviously he’s used every last bit of his strength during the last twenty-four hours and he’s run out.

“Oh, Buck! Buck, it’s okay.”

Bucky’s waving his hand around, trying to grab any part of Steve he can reach. Steve anchors the waving hand into his shirt and pulls Bucky into his arms.

He wraps his arms around him and holds him tight, letting Bucky sob into his shirt. He clenches his jaw and takes deep breath. He can’t cry. Not now.

Not yet.

He brushes Bucky’s tangled hair behind his ear and presses kisses against his hair and temple, whispering comforting words to him. When he realizes that Bucky can’t hear him, he turns his head so his lips are brushing Bucky’s temple as he talks. Hopefully he can feel that Steve’s trying to comfort him.

“We’re gonna be okay, Buck. I promise. We’re gonna go home and we’ll figure this out.”

When Bucky finally calms down, he sniffs hard and lets Steve wipe his face with a tissue. He leans against Steve’s chest and adjusts his grip on his shirt.

“Buck, I gotta go clear some stuff with the staff. I gotta pay for today’s stay and sign you out and stuff like that.”

Bucky doesn’t respond—obviously—but he does tense up and whines fearfully when he feels Steve starting to push up from the bed. “Please, Stevie! Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me, don’t leave me, don’t leave me!”

“I’m just going down the hall, Buck. I’ll—” Bucky can’t hear him. Right. Steve can explain until he’s blue in the face, but Bucky won’t understand where Steve’s going or the fact that he’ll be right back.

“Okay, okay, it’s alright,” Steve breathes out and sits back down, pulling Bucky back into his arms. Bucky curls up against his chest again.

Okay.

Even though Steve has missed hugging Bucky like crazy over the past eleven months and he’ll gladly spend the rest of his life with Bucky in his arms—it does present some difficulties.

“Uh, Mrs. Nurse?” he calls into the hallway.

No response.

Steve looks around and tries to find the call button. He finally spies it dangling from Bucky’s wrist. Mrs. Nurse is one smart lady.

He discreetly pushes the button, hoping Bucky doesn’t notice. He doesn’t want to try to explain why he’s calling the nurse. He doesn’t want Bucky thinking he’s going to abandon him and leave the nurse in his place.

Moments later, Bucky’s nurse appears. She’s smiling sadly when she sees Bucky clinging to Steve.

“How’s he doing?”

“He’s pretty upset.”

“He put up a very tough front last night and today. He’s a fighter.”

Steve smiles down at Bucky, who’s sniffling into Steve’s shirt, relaxed again now that Steve’s not moving away. “Yes, he is.”

“What can I help you with?”

“I have—I have a million things that need to be done and a million questions that I need answered, but most importantly, I don’t want to physically leave him. He won’t understand that I’ll be right back and I don’t want to upset him.”

“Okay. Tell me what you need done and I’ll see how we can get it done.”

“I need—I need to pay his bill.”

“Not a problem. I’ll go get the print out. Will you be paying with a credit card?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’ll bring the card reader and we can get that done right here.”

“Okay. I also need to get him signed out.”

“I’ll bring those papers too. Do you think he’ll be able to sign his own name?”

“I’m pretty sure. I’m assuming he signed some stuff yesterday so his hand should remember.”

“You can help him—as long as he’s doing most of the movement, it’ll be legal.”

She disappears and Steve rubs Bucky’s back. “It’ll be okay, Buck. I promise. I’m not going anywhere.”

She comes back and hands Steve the papers.

“Thank you.” Steve pays the bill and makes Bucky sit up. He puts a pen into Bucky’s hand and the nurse brings the meal tray back and they put the discharge papers on it.

Bucky’s frowning in concentration, sensing that this is important.

Steve holds Bucky’s hand and strokes his cheek with the other. He guides Bucky’s hand to the line where he needs to sign. Steve relaxes his grip enough that Bucky will be moving the pen under his own power.

“You want me to sign this? Or something else? Sign, Stevie? Tap me on the back of the hand once if I should sign it.”

Steve taps the back of Bucky’s hand, indicating that yes, he wants Bucky to sign the paper. Nodding, Bucky frowns hard and slowly scribbles his signature on the page.

Steve examines it. Bucky hadn’t stayed on the line very well but it looks pretty much as good as his signature has always looked, so he hands the paper to the nurse and gives Bucky a kiss on the cheek.

“Good job, buddy.”

Bucky looks pretty pleased with himself, but as soon as the tray is moved away, he’s snuggling up to Steve again, still not willing to take the risk that he’ll disappear.

The next step is getting them home. But with that comes a whole slew of other problems.

Bucky can talk and express his own needs and wants, but Steve has no idea how to communicate with him. Bucky only recognized him because he’s known Steve forever, and Bucky guessed about the signing thing. But what other things? How’s he going to ask Bucky what he wants to eat? What he wants to wear? What he wants to do during the day? What if he needs to warn Bucky about something, or ask him something really important?

“I—ma’am, where can I get information on how to—how to help him? I—how do I communicate with him?”

She smiled. “I’m not the best source of information about that. We have a therapist on staff who you could talk to—”

“I don’t need somebody to talk about my feelings with, ma’am. I need information.”

She looks apologetic. “I’m sorry but we don’t have such resources. I would check the internet...”

In other words, it’ll be Steve and Bucky against the world.

Again.

Well, it’s a lifestyle they’ve been living for most of their lives.

Steve can handle that.

He nods. “Okay. Thanks.”

She gives him a smile. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

She leaves them and Steve starts mulling over the problem on his own.

Well, the first thing they need to is get home. The hospital can’t help them, and the faster Bucky’s settled at home, the better.

Steve rubs his chin over Bucky’s head. “You ready to go home, Buck?”

No response.

He tries to think of a way to get across the idea that they’re going home, but he has no idea how to convey that.

He decides Bucky will just have to trust him.

Well, it won’t be the first time Bucky’s followed him blindly into the unknown.

Although it’s never been this literal.

Steve holds on to Bucky’s hand tightly and starts shifting off the bed. Bucky tenses up, but Steve doesn’t stop, pulling Bucky’s hand with him. Bucky tightens his grip on Steve’s hand.

“If you think you’re leaving me here, punk, you’ve got something else coming,” Bucky says, letting himself be pulled off the bed. His voice is shaky, unsure, but he’s gamely following Steve. “I’ll go wherever you want me to go, but you ain’t leaving me alone.”

Steve looks around himself and realizes that Bucky has no other clothes other than the hospital scrubs. Swearing under his breath, he presses the call button dangling from Bucky’s wrist again.

Their nurse is back. “Ma’am, one more favor before we go, please. Do you have a pair of pants he can wear? Oh, and slippers?”

“Of course.”

She’s back a few minutes later with some hospital staff scrub bottoms and slippers. Steve sits Bucky onto the edge of the bed and hands him the pants. He helps Bucky run his hand along the waist of the pants and along each leg.

Then Steve taps both of Bucky’s legs.

“You want me to put these on?”

Steve reaches up and taps Bucky on the back of the hand. Yes.

When Bucky first tries to lift one leg to pull the pants on, he nearly falls over. Steve grabs him just in time.

“His balance is off now that he’s blind, Steve. It’ll take a while for him to get used to it.”

Steve shoves Bucky back onto the bed and tugs the pants out of his grasp. He bends down and tugs the pants over each of his feet, tapping on each foot to get him to lift them. Bucky’s scowling. “I can do it, Rogers. I ain’t a child.”

Steve finishing pulling up the pants and gives Bucky a quick peck on the cheek in apology. Slightly mollified, Bucky gamely steps into the slippers. The call button is detached from his wrist and Steve pulls him to his feet. Bucky immediately grabs Steve’s hand in a tight grip and his face goes pale when Steve starts pulling him forward.

“The disorientation is a lot worse when he’s moving, Steve. It’ll take him a while to get used to it, but moving around will scare him for a while,” the nurse says from the door.

Right.

Steve steps up to Bucky and pulls him into a tight hug. “It’s okay, buddy. You can do it.” Steve moves Bucky’s hand so it’s curled around his bicep. It automatically brings Bucky closer to his side and allows Steve to hold on to Bucky’s hospital gown top as an extra anchor.

He waits, watching Bucky’s face. He’s still pale and looks scared, but he gives a firm nod. “Let’s go. Oh, can I pee first?”

They slowly shuffle their way to the bathroom. They both take care of business and shuffle out of the room and down the hallway. Bucky’s sliding his feet along the floor, not lifting them up as he walks. Maybe he isn’t even aware he’s doing it. Steve assumes it’s due to the disorientation.

Their nurse accompanies them to the door where their cab is waiting.

Steve opens the car door and brings Bucky’s hand out to touch the roof of the car, the backseat and door.

“You want me to get into the car? Stevie, you’re coming too, right?”

Steve reaches up to Bucky’s hand and taps the back of it twice, pausing in between each tap. Yes to both questions.

Steve helps Bucky slide into the seat, does up his seatbelt, then steps back so their nurse can say goodbye to him. She takes Bucky’s hand and brings it up to her neck where he can feel her necklace. Immediately, Bucky smiles. “Hello, Mrs. Wonderful. Thank you for being so kind.”

“You’re welcome, sweetie,” she murmurs. Bucky takes one of her hands and brings it to his lips and presses a kiss to it.

Steve uses Bucky’s distraction to his advantage and races around the car to get in on the other side.

Bucky actually startles a bit when Steve slams the car door—he must have felt the vibration—and releases the nurse’s hand. “Thank you again.”

She steps back and says goodbye to Steve, then shuts Bucky’s door.

Immediately Bucky’s hand is groping through the air. Steve catches his hand and puts it on his thigh. Then he asks the hackie to drive them home.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boys head home to Brooklyn and begin their huge learning curve.

By some miracle, traffic cooperates and they make it to Brooklyn in good time.

They shuffle out of the car, make it across the sidewalk—then they’re faced with the flight of stairs that lead up to the main door of Steve’s apartment building.

Steve gapes up at them, but Bucky’s hanging off him, barely managing to support his own weight. He’s completely exhausted.

Steve is too, but they can’t stay here on the sidewalk. They have to get up these stairs.

Steve mulls it over for a second. Bucky won’t understand that he’s on stairs and it’ll freak him out and he might stumble. If Steve can’t catch him, he’ll slam his face into the concrete stairs, or he’ll tumble down the stairs.

So Steve loosens Bucky’s death grip on his shirt, gives his hand a kiss to calm him and turns around. He grabs Bucky’s knees and pulls him onto his back, ignoring Bucky’s surprised shout. Bucky quickly wraps his arm around Steve’s neck, cutting off Steve’s air supply.

Steve opens his mouth to ask Bucky to loosen up—then realizes how useless that would be.

Best to get this over with as soon as possible.

He starts climbing up the stairs, hauling himself up one step at a time with an iron grip on the railing. His other hand is wrapped around Bucky’s back.

Steve feels like he’s gone two rounds with the Hulk by the time they make it up the flight of stairs and he carefully crouches to release Bucky.

Bucky’s hand is groping through the air and Steve attaches it to his sleeve. Bucky’s pale and scared but he seems to understand that this is something that needs to be done, so he’s quiet, following Steve’s lead.

Steve unlocks the door and they slowly make their way down the hallway and reach Steve’s apartment. Steve’s never been so grateful that his apartment’s on the first floor and they don’t have to deal with more stairs.

They go inside, Steve locks the door, they shuffle to the couch and Steve guides Bucky down on it. Steve collapses beside him, exhausted and wanting to cry.

He takes a few minutes to get a hold of himself—now is not the time for him to fall apart. Now is the time to help Bucky.

Honestly, Steve has no idea what to do next.

Bucky’s hand is still curled around Steve’s bicep and he’s staring vacantly into the distance.

“Were we in a car earlier, Stevie?” he asks.

Steve nods. “Yeah.”

No response from Bucky.

Oh, right.

He reaches over and taps the back of Bucky’s hand. Yes.

“Where are we now?”

Steve stares at the floor. How the hell is he supposed to convey the concept of home?

Bucky jostles him, impatient. “Where are we, Stevie? A doctor’s office?”

“No, Buck. We’re home. We’re in my apartment but I don’t know how to tell you that.” He chews on his lip. “Damn it!” he bursts out, annoyed with himself.

Bucky must have felt something because he pulls back, frowning. “What’s going on? Why are you mad? Who’s here? Is there a doctor here? What’s he saying? Stevie?”

Steve takes a deep breath. This is rapidly getting out of hand. He’s being an idiot.

He’s sitting here, moping and getting angry, letting Bucky think they’re in danger.

He tightens Bucky’s grip on his bicep and carefully pulls them up. He walks them back to the front door. He untangles Bucky’s hand from his arm and gently runs their hands over the deadbolt and the doorknob.

Then he turns them and shuffles into his bedroom, where he runs their hands over his bed.

Their last stop is back in the living room at the couch where Steve sits them down and puts his sketchpad and a package of pencils into Bucky’s hand.

Bucky’s frowning in concentration, still pale from the walking. He’s running his hand over the coil on the sketchpad and leafing through the pages, running his fingers over the sheets. He touches the box of pencils and Steve opens it and pulls out a few of them.

Bucky grabs one of them and rubs his hand along the smooth surface and touches the tip of the pencil.

“Is this your sketching stuff? For drawing?”

Steve taps the back of his hand.

“Are we at the doctor’s office?” He sounds much less sure than he had a few minutes ago.

Oh, oh.

He needs a way to signal ‘no’.

Steve thinks quickly, then rubs his hand over the back of Bucky’s hand. Bucky frowns.

“What? What the hell is that? That’s not how ‘yes’ goes.”

Steve taps his hand. Yes, he agrees.

“Okay, let’s go again. Are we at a doctor’s office?”

Steve rubs the back of his hand.

“Is that no? Are you trying to say no?”

Tap.

“Okay! Okay good. That’s good. No doctor’s office. We’re somewhere with a lock and bed and your sketching stuff. Uh, we aren’t in your quarters at SHIELD, right?”

Rub.

“What—oh, did you get an apartment? Is this where you live?”

Relief floods Steve. “Oh, I love you, Bucky Barnes.”

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

Bucky’s face lights up. He looks relieved. “Oh, thank God! So nobody’s gonna bother us.”

Tap.

“Nobody’s just gonna come walking in here, right? Cause I’d hate that.”

Rub. Rub. Rub. “No, Buck. I promise. I’m not letting anybody in here without you knowing about it.”

Bucky sighs softly and bumps his head against Steve’s shoulder. “Good. Stevie, I’m really tired. Can we go to sleep?”

Steve glances at the clock. It’s barely three in the afternoon. But okay. Bucky must be exhausted after everything he’s been through.

Tap.

Steve gets them up and leads the way to the bedroom. They go to the closet and Steve pulls out some sleepwear for Bucky and guides him to the bed.

He sits Bucky on the edge of the bed and helps him out of the hospital clothes and into the sleepwear.

He’s giving Bucky encouraging shoves to lie down, but Bucky’s hesitating. “Stevie, can we go check the door? To make sure it’s locked?”

Steve stares at him. He knows the door’s locked. In fact, if he takes two steps to his left, he can see the locked deadbolt on the front door through the open bedroom door.

But Bucky can’t see it.

He reaches for Bucky’s hand. Tap.

They get up, Bucky’s hand grabs Steve’s bicep and they shuffle to the front door. Bucky runs his hand over the deadbolt, flipping it open and closed a few times. Then he tries the doorknob, yanking on it, making sure it doesn’t open.

“Okay. We can go to bed.”

They shuffle back to bed. Bucky slides into bed first, stretching out and carefully feeling for the edges of the bed before lying down.

Steve pulls the covers over them and gets comfortable next to Bucky. He realizes he forgot to pull his drapes shut, but he’s so exhausted it probably won’t bother him.

Obviously the bright sunshine streaming through the windows isn’t bothering Bucky.

Bucky turns to his side so he’s facing Steve and tangles his hand in Steve’s shirt but stays on his side of the bed. It’s how they’ve always slept. Barnes might be a cuddle monster when he’s awake, but he could never fall asleep cuddling.

Right now, that’s a perfect arrangement.

It means that if Steve lies perfectly still, he can finally release the tears that have been building up since he got to the hospital.

He lies there, letting the tears stream down his face, struggling to keep his breathing even despite the painful lump in his throat.

How the hell are they going to do this?

How the hell are they going to survive?

This—this is way out of Steve’s realm of things he can cope with.

He lies there, sobbing silently. He doesn’t dare lift his hand to wipe his face, so the tears are just streaming down his face, soaking his pillow.

Who the hell did they piss off so badly that the universe decides this is what they deserve?

All they ever wanted was to live quiet lives. Helping out their community. Make ends meet. Enjoy life. Then the stupid war had come and things got turned completely upside down.

But they had fought and struggled and battled their way through all of the trauma, all of the heartache, all of the loss and pain—and this is how the universe repays them?

Buck loses his arm—and then he has to choose between spending his life in prison, locked away from everybody, or losing the ability to enjoy life?

And—Steve realizes it’s a bit selfish—but Steve wanted his happy ending for himself too. He wanted Bucky and a quiet life.

But not like this.

Not with Buck having to suffer the rest of his life—and Steve not able to do a thing to help him.

It’s not fair!

None of it is fair!

“What’s wrong? You’re shaking.” Bucky pushes himself up on his elbow, his hand tightening in Steve’s shirt.

Steve quickly reaches up to wipe the tears off his face, but Bucky beats him to it. Bucky sits up and runs his hand up Steve’s chest, neck and his face. He frowns when he feels the tears.

“Oh, Stevie! Sweetheart, why didn’t you tell me you were upset? Jesus.” He lies back down and tugs on Steve’s shirt. “Come here, punk.”

Steve lets himself be pulled onto Bucky’s chest and feels Bucky’s arm wrap around his back. Steve buries his face into his best friend’s neck and lets himself cry.

“It’ll be okay. I promise, darling. I wanted this. I didn’t wanna spend the next eighty years of my life in prison without you and this ain’t ideal, but it’s the best option I had. Everybody’s gonna leave us in peace now, and we get to be together for the rest of our lives. Stevie, it’s like it’s 1945 and we’re finally coming home from the front. I’m a little banged up, but we finally get to go home and live in peace. That’s all we ever wanted, ain’t it?”

Steve sniffles. “Not like this, Buck. You—it ain’t fair.”

“Sweetheart, if you’re arguing with me, you gotta stop. This is what it is and we gotta look on the bright side. It’s been eleven months since I got to have you in my arms, and I’m telling you I don’t care what I had to give up to make that happen. It’s worth it.”

“But I don’t know how to do this, Buck. I don’t know how to give you a good life. Not like this.”

Bucky doesn’t respond, of course.

“Damn it, Buck. I’m scared. This whole thing is stupid and I’m scared,” Steve whispers.

Nothing. Buck’s rubbing his back, but he’s not realizing how upset Steve is.

Steve sits up and pulls Bucky’s hand off him. He makes Buck hold his hand up, then he places his hand on top of his. His hand’s shaking and he makes it tremble harder, hopefully communicating what he wants to say.

Bucky’s frowning. “Oh, Stevie that’s no good. Damn it, I’m sorry you’re scared, sweetheart. I’m scared too, but we’ll figure this out. I know we will.”

When Steve doesn’t move, Bucky curls his hand over Steve’s and pulls himself up.

He tugs his hand out of Steve’s grasp, finds Steve’s face and gently wipes the tears off his cheeks.

“Hey, it ain’t like we’re not used to being each other’s ears, right? I spent more than twenty years being your left ear, didn’t I? We figured that out, didn’t we?”

Steve sighs softly. Buck’s right. This isn’t the same thing, but he supposes it’s in the same ballpark.

He’d only known Bucky for about a year when his eight-year old self nearly succumbed to yet another illness. When he pulled through, everybody was just happy that he was still alive—and the fact that he’d lost his hearing in his left ear wasn’t something that anybody focused on until a few days later. His mother cried for days, until the issue with the school came up, which sufficiently distracted her. The principal at their school tried to get Steve thrown out of the school, telling his mother that they couldn’t teach deaf children. His teachers already didn’t like Steve much because he’d missed so much school due to his illnesses that he was still stuck in the first grade, plus they thought he was a walking pile of contagious disease, and they thought this was a perfect excuse to get rid of him.

Steve discovered he had two fighters on his side: his mother and Bucky Barnes. His mother would march him and Bucky to school each day, greeting the principal with a tight smile and daring her to block Steve from going inside. Bucky would link his arm through Steve’s left arm and stick by his side like glue, explaining to anybody who would listen that he was Steve’s left ear. Steve never had to worry about somebody sneaking up on his left side, because Bucky was always there. Bucky was supposed to be two years ahead of him at that point, but he put his foot down and said he was going to be in Steve’s class. Everybody—including Bucky—knew that Bucky wouldn’t be in school past the seventh grade anyway because he’d have to start working full time, so nobody put up too much of a fuss when his nine year old self joined Steve’s eight year old self in a class of six year olds. Whenever any of the kids or teachers tried being mean and deliberately tried saying something quietly on his left side where he wouldn’t hear, he had Bucky there to block them and stare them down until they moved to Steve’s other side.

For nearly twenty years, Steve barely noticed that his left ear didn’t work, all because his mother and Bucky always tried to make his life as good as it could be. They didn’t ignore his disability, but they learned how they could help Steve live life and added as much joy into it as possible.

Steve remembers the Howlies would laugh at Bucky sleeping on Steve’s left side and always, _always_ walking on his left, even after the serum gave Steve his hearing back.

Bucky would always wave off the laughter, saying he couldn’t be bothered to break a twenty year habit.

Bucky’s smiling, probably remembering the same things. “I guess the universe don’t want us having four good ears between us, huh? We had a couple of months there during the war, but I think we’re just destined to never hear each other right with our ears. But that’s okay. It wasn’t the end of the world when you lost your hearing, and this won’t be the end of our world. Besides it’s about time you start being my ears, cause I’m exhausted. I spent twenty years being your left ear—it’s time for you to return the favor.”

A chuckle escapes Steve. Bucky’s fingers travel over his cheeks and his lips, tracing the smile that had appeared. “There’s that smile I know and love. See? Everything’s gonna be okay. I know it is.”

Steve takes a deep breath and wipes the remains of the tears off his cheeks. “I love you, Buck.”

Bucky doesn’t respond.

That’s not right.

Well, there’s a simple solution to that. Steve’s been telling Bucky he loves him for eleven months without saying a word.

Steve sits up and takes Bucky’s hand in his own. He carefully folds Bucky’s hand so he’s making a fist with his index finger pointing outwards. Then he jabs himself in the chest. He curls down Bucky’s finger so he’s making a fist and rubs his fist over his heart. The last part requires Bucky’s finger to be pulled out again and he jabs Bucky in the chest.

Bucky was frowning in concentration through the first two parts, but when Steve does the last part, he breaks out in a smile. “I love you too.” Then Bucky smirks. “Hey you know what else I haven’t had for eleven months that I’ve really missed?”

Steve frowns. Even if he has missed Bucky like crazy, he isn’t in the mood for sex.

“I haven’t gotten any sugar from my sweetheart. You gonna give me some sugar?”

Steve smiles. “You’re a goof, Buck.” He leans down and kisses Bucky’s lips. Bucky startles back slightly from the unexpected touch. “Sorry, sorry,” Steve breathes, kissing his cheek.

“Jesus, Rogers. Give a guy a little warning, huh? Get back here,” he says.

Steve kisses him on the lips and this time Bucky kisses him back. It’s slow and chaste, not meant to lead to anything more, just two people re-familiarizing themselves with each other.

Bucky sighs happily in between kisses. “This right here is why I did this, Stevie.”

*             *             *

Bucky comes out of his doze when he feels Steve shifting. He focuses on Steve’s movements beneath his hand, trying to guess what he’s doing. Steve rolls to his other side and Bucky’s hand slides to his side. He holds his breath, focusing. Steve’s side is rhythmically moving up and down, his normal breathing pattern when he’s asleep.

Bucky’s been trying to fall asleep but he can’t turn his brain off. He’s obsessively listening for any noise that would alert him to anybody entering their room.

And every few minutes he’s reminded that he wouldn’t hear anything, even if a hundred people burst into the dark room.

He’s on edge, alert, his eyes and ears straining in a futile effort to monitor his surroundings. It’s the only reason he’d detected that Steve had been crying.

The kissing seems to have calmed Steve, who’s (hopefully) sleeping.

The kissing had been very nice, but now that Bucky’s no longer focusing on Steve, he’s back to obsessing over his dark, silent surroundings.

He feels Steve shift again.

This time, he’s not just shifting into a different position, he’s sitting up.

“What’s going on?” Bucky asks.

He doesn’t hear himself say it, but he knows he says it.

Suddenly, something brushes against his cheek. He jerks back in surprise, before recognizing that it was Steve’s hand.

The hand pulls back, uncertain, then it’s stroking his cheek again.

Bucky’s hand has fallen into Steve’s lap and he tangles his hand in Steve’s shirt again. What’s Steve doing?

“Wanna make time with me, Stevie? This ain’t the way to get a proper night’s rest,” Bucky says, smirking.

But no, Steve’s shifting off the bed.

No, no, _no_.

Steve can’t leave him alone in the darkness. He tightens his grip on Steve’s shirt. He feels Steve’s hand brushing his cheek again. He ignores it.

“I’m coming too,” he says. He keeps his grip tight on Steve’s shirt and shifts across the bed.

He feels Steve’s chest rumbling under his hand. He’s saying something, probably wanting Bucky to stay here. But Bucky’s not staying by himself in the darkness.

“No, please, Steve. Let me come too,” he says, already starting to panic.

He feels a tap on the back of his hand that’s tangled tightly in Steve’s shirt.

Steve helps him slide off the bed and stand. Bucky slides his hand to Steve’s bicep and slowly shuffles along beside Steve.

Fear races along his spine as he moves through the darkness, terrified of bumping into something or falling. He can’t prevent the slight trembling that’s running through his body and his heart’s hammering in his chest again.

He keeps his feet firmly planted on the ground, only daring to slide his feet along in small shuffles.

They eventually come to a stop and Bucky can feel Steve shifting around. He has no idea what Steve’s doing, but doesn’t care.

As long as Bucky’s physically connected to Steve, he’s okay. He leans against Steve, pressing his face against his shoulder.

He waits patiently, then feels Steve shuffle them slightly sideways. Bucky waits again while Steve shifts around.

Then Steve’s turning them around and they’re heading somewhere again.

When Bucky bumps into something soft, he lets out a gasp, fear clutching him. He feels Steve gently peeling Bucky’s hand off his bicep and placing it on the soft thing he’d bumped into.

The bed.

Oh. They’re back at the bed.

He crawls onto the bed, feeling the warm indentation where Steve had lain. He moves past it and reaches his own warm spot. He lies down and pulls the blanket over himself, his hand moving across the mattress, searching for Steve.

He can feel Steve getting settled next to him and Bucky gently takes hold of his shirt, right over Steve’s heart.

He closes his eyes. Maybe if he tries to go to sleep very quickly, the darkness and silence won’t have a chance to freak him out.

*             *             *

It doesn’t work.

He still feels panicky and on edge. They had checked the door together, but what if it has unlocked in the mean time?

People could have come in and they could be hiding all around the apartment without him knowing.

Panic makes his hand shake and he tries to swallow the terror that’s creeping up his neck.

After endless more minutes spent in fear, he decides he’s had enough. “Stevie?”

He feels Steve shift. He feels a tap on the back of his hand.

“Can we check the door? Please?”

He feels Steve hesitate. “Please? I wanna make sure it’s locked properly.”

Not that he doesn’t trust Steve, but he needs to make sure.

He feels the covers being pulled off and Steve’s shifting off the bed. They repeat their earlier scoot off the bed and then they’re shuffling into the darkness again.

Bucky follows along until Steve comes to a stop and he’s taking Bucky’s hand and running it over something metallic and cold. Bucky frowns in concentration, tracing the shape of the deadbolt until he can hold it firmly. He flips it open, then closed.

Then open and closed again.

He runs his hand down the door to the doorknob and turns it, trying to pull open the door.

It doesn’t budge.

Good.

“Okay. It’s locked.”

Steve puts Bucky’s hand back on his bicep and they shuffle back to the bed.

Again, Bucky tries falling asleep, but no matter how hard he tries, the silence and darkness are terrifying him.

“Stevie?”

A shift. A tap on his hand.

“Can—can you hold me, please? I can’t—I can’t sleep when it’s so dark and quiet all around me. I don’t know if something’s waiting in the dark. It’s—it’s—I’m scared.” He feels mortified saying it. He’s kind of glad he can’t hear himself say the words.

He feels Steve’s hands run up his arms and hold his face. He feels kisses being brushed over his cheeks, forehead and lips.

Tap, tap, tap on his hand.

Steve’s pulling him over. Bucky follows, letting himself go limp in Steve’s arms. Steve pulls Bucky’s face into his neck and Bucky happily sighs into his neck. He wraps his arm tightly around Steve’s chest and feels Steve’s arms rubbing his back.

He’s surrounded by Steve’s smell and Steve’s touch, and the darkness and silence no longer matter as much.

“Thank you, Stevie.”

A kiss on his temple. A rumble in Steve’s chest.

You’re welcome, Buck.

*             *             *

Regardless of how much nicer it is to lie in the darkness in Steve’s arms, Bucky still can’t turn off the fear prickling in the back of his mind.

He manages to fall into fitful dozes occasionally, but he always jerks awake after a bit, blinking hard and trying to see in the darkness before he realizes how futile that is.

Exhaustion eventually pulls him under despite his terror. He wakes once more during the night when he has to pee and he and Steve shuffle to the bathroom, but aside from that, he sleeps a few solid hours.

He wakes before Steve and runs his hand up Steve’s chest to his face. Once he’s identified where Steve’s lips are, he wakes him up with soft kisses.

He feels Steve smiling under his lips.

“Good morning, Stevie,” he says. He feels Steve’s lips moving under his.

Good morning, Buck.

Steve gets them out of bed and they shuffle into the bathroom. Bucky clenches his jaw as they shuffle along, the fear racing down his back as they go.

Steve lifts Bucky’s hand and he’s touching what he identifies as the shower head. The thought of getting into the dark shower by himself terrifies him, but he tries to stay upbeat.

“Are you trying to tell me I stink?”

His hand is brought to Steve’s mouth and he can feel the punk is laughing. He feels the tap on his hand.

“Very funny. Alright, fine. But you have to come in with me. I can’t do it alone.”

He’s unbelievably grateful that Steve has enough money now to have an apartment with its own bathroom. This is bad enough—having to shuffle out of the apartment and use an outhouse with tons of people waiting in line and staring at him would be a million times worse.

He feels a bit bad because he knows how much better he has it now than Steve did back when Steve was the one who had needed help.

It had always been humiliating for Steve when he was sick and Bucky had to help him with basic things.

Normally they only bathed once a week, but when Steve was sick, Bucky didn’t like him stewing in his own sweat for days on end. He’d leave work early so he could haul buckets of water from the spigot out back up to their flat and get it warming on the stove. He’d prop Steve on a chair and bathe him with their precious soap and the cleanest rag they had. He’d use one bucket of water, while another warmed on the stove, and he’d switch buckets when the water got too cold. Steve would protest and fuss—if he was aware of what was happening—and declare that he could do it himself, but sometimes Bucky had to tie him to the chair with his belt so he wouldn’t slip off—so bathing himself was out of the question.

Bucky would carry him back and forth to the outhouses behind their tenement to use the toilet, Steve in one arm and a precious roll of toilet paper in his other hand. If Steve really had to go badly, Bucky didn’t care if there was a line of people waiting, he’d yell and push people aside, ignoring the nasty words and threats being directed his way. Steve often didn’t remember those trips in detail, but he had a few vague recollections, and they always embarrassed him.

It hadn’t ever bothered Bucky. Steve had needed help doing things when he was sick, and after Mrs. Rogers’ passing, there was nobody Bucky trusted more than himself to help Steve when he was in such a vulnerable condition. It had to be done, simple as that. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t humiliating for Steve.

So Bucky really shouldn’t complain in their current situation. Their roles are now reversed, but the situation is much better now than it had been back then. They have the entire bathroom to themselves for as long as they need it. Nobody banging on the door. Nobody barging in.

Steve sits him on the closed toilet and helps him pulls off his clothes. Bucky hangs on to Steve’s arm while he shifts around doing something.

While he waits, Bucky becomes aware of the darkness and silence pressing in on him again. He tightens his grip on Steve’s arm.

The fear is nudged aside a bit when he feels Steve pulling him to his feet. He’s pulled forward until he stubs his toes on what he thinks is the edge of the bathtub. He manages to catch the grunt of pain before it escapes.

His hand is lifted and suddenly it’s wet, covered in water that’s falling from above.

That irrational fear comes flooding back and it grows thicker—he can’t get into the black water thudding down from above!

“Steve, Steve, I can’t. I—can’t. I—I can’t.”

His hand is pulled out of the spray of water and then he’s got Steve’s arms wrapped around him, Steve’s lips moving by his ear.

“I’m sorry, Stevie, but it’s—it’s all dark and I _can’t_.” There’s a lump in his throat and he realizes he’s crying.

He’s terrified. Completely terrified. If he gets into the black water, he’ll drown in the darkness.

Steve’s lips are still moving against his ear.

They stand there, Bucky trembling and crying in Steve’s arms and Steve saying things.

Eventually, Bucky starts getting mad at himself.

Come on, Barnes! Stop being such a damn baby! It’s just a shower.

Get in there and stop being a baby!

He clenches his jaw and slowly pulls back from Steve. “Okay. Okay, let me try again.”

He feels Steve wiping the tears off his cheeks. Kisses are pressed to his forehead.

Then his hand is being pulled under the spray again.

He forces himself to imagine the spray as a beautiful waterfall, somewhere outside in the sunshine.

No darkness.

No scariness.

He’s just going to step into a nice, warm waterfall. He turns his hand, letting the water run down his arm. He decides to close his eyes to add to the illusion. That helps a bit. With his eyes closed, he can pretend that he’s somewhere sunny and bright, he’s just choosing not to see it.

Several minutes go by until he manages to calm enough to nod. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

A kiss on his temple. Then they’re moving.

Steve taps on one of his legs and Bucky slowly lifts it and let’s Steve pull it into the shower. He’s clinging to Steve’s bicep, feeling very off balance. He’s pulled forward and has no choice but to lift his other leg. He slams his shin into the edge of the bathtub, not having lifted it high enough. He ignores the twinge of pain.

He’s finally in the shower, under the stream of water. The warm water’s nice and has the highest pressure he’s ever experienced.

Waterfall. He’s in a nice, warm waterfall.

Don’t think about the darkness.

He can feel the safety of the wall behind him and to his left. On his right is the shower curtain and in front of him is Steve. He’s surrounded by protection on all sides. Nobody can get at him here.

He relaxes in the warmth, letting Steve move him this way and that, lifts his arm and legs when they’re tapped and lets Steve’s hands wander wherever they want, scrubbing him down. While Steve washes him, Bucky focuses on breathing and remaining calm.

Waterfall. It’s a nice, friendly, warm waterfall. He’s safe. He’s okay.

When the water’s turned off, he stands in the warm air, until there’s a sudden gust of cold. He lets out a little squawk and wraps his arm around himself. There’s a hand on his cheek and a quick kiss.

Steve pulls him out of the shower and gets him dried off. Then Bucky is put back on the closed toilet and locks his grip on Steve’s arm while Steve shifts around.

Then they shuffle somewhere else and Steve hands him an armful of clothes. They shuffle some more and Bucky bumps into the bed. He sits down and Steve helps him pull on his clothes.

The next few hours are pretty mundane.

Bucky hangs on to Steve’s arm and follows him around while Steve prepares them food. They sit at the table, their chairs wedged right beside each other. Bucky has his hand wrapped tightly in Steve’s shirt, focusing on the food that Steve’s nudging against his lips. As long as he’s focusing on the food, he’s less focused on the darkness and silence pressing in on him from all sides—except the side where Steve is.

He doesn’t care what he’s eating. He knows Steve will make sure he’s eating the right kind of things. He keeps eating as long as Steve is pushing food against his lips, letting Steve judge when he’s had enough. Bucky’s too busy focusing on his surroundings to pay attention.

They do the dishes with Bucky holding on to Steve, his silent shadow. While Bucky waits, the fear creeps in again, sticking in his throat and making his neck prickle. He turns his head and buries his face in Steve’s shirt.

Steve stumbled a bit but adjusts himself and there’s a gentle hand running through his hair before Steve goes back to the dishes.

Then they’re back on the soft couch where they’d sat the day before. Steve is shifting around, doing something as they’re sitting.

Realizing he feels a bit better when he’s surrounded by Steve and other things, Bucky turns so he’s wedged into Steve’s side, his face pressed into Steve’s shirt again, his back pressed against the couch.

Time slowly goes by.

Now that he’s not moving around and the darkness and silence can’t attack him from all sides, Bucky starts to calm.

That’s when boredom starts to set in.

“Whatcha doin’, Stevie?”

Bucky’s hand is pulled over, and then he’s touching some type of device that’s on Steve’s lap. Bucky gently runs his fingers over it. The thing is covered in buttons. Some kind of machine. Maybe a computer? Steve had used one from time to time when they’d been on the run.

Bucky can feel Steve’s fingers moving over the keys, typing.

Time goes by.

He has no idea what Steve’s doing on the computer, but even if he asked, Steve can’t possibly explain it using yes and no hand signals.

Besides, if he’s honest, Bucky’s too busy keeping the fear at bay to really care.

Steve can do whatever he wants on the machine as long as Bucky can stay plastered to his side.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sense of touch will become a huge part of Bucky’s communication. I describe the tactile communication in the story, which might be a bit dry to read. I recommend trying to do the tactile motions being described on your own hand, and you can work together with Bucky to figure out what’s being said before you read Bucky's translation. Plus, it’ll give you a good appreciation of how much concentration such communication requires! The hand signals which the boys come up with in this chapter will be used throughout the rest of the story.
> 
> Thanks to Kawherp and Incrediblectopus for suggesting the communication method which the boys will start using in this chapter! I don't want to spoil it, but if you'd like access to a 'dictionary', refer to the End Notes for a link. Bucky will provide translations for you, so you don't need to access the dictionary unless you want to learn more.

With his face in Steve’s shirt, Bucky zones out after a while, but he’s startled back into attentiveness when he feels Steve squeeze his hand.

“Are we going somewhere?” he asks, reluctantly sitting up.

A rub.

Okay.

Steve is flattening Bucky’s palm and smoothing his hand over it, from his fingertips to his wrist. Then he starts tapping the center of Bucky’s palm with one finger. The taps stop, then he’s doing short lines for a while. Then it’s back to taps. It feels nice and soothing. Bucky relaxes.

“Having a good time, Rogers? What are you doing? Is this some new game?”

Maybe Steve wants Bucky to repeat the pattern of taps and lines back to him?

Steve abruptly rubs the back of his hand and gives it a hard shake for good measure.

Pay attention, Barnes.

Looks like it’s not time for a game.

“Okay. I’m paying attention.” Bucky sits up straight and focuses on the taps and lines.

Now that he’s paying attention, he realizes Steve is doing a very specific pattern.

Three light taps.

Three hard, short lines.

Three light taps.

Three hard, short lines.

And so on.

No, wait. Now that he’s paying closer attention, he realizes the pattern is more complex.

Tap, tap, tap.

Line, line, line.

Tap, tap, tap.

A long pause. The pause feels deliberate—Steve’s finger remains on his palm, resting very lightly and definitely not moving. Then it starts the pattern again.

Tap, tap, tap.

Line, line, line.

Tap, tap, tap.

Another long pause.

Clearly, the three taps, three short lines and three more taps are meant to be one unit. Steve is repeating it over and over and over again.

There’s something vaguely familiar about the pattern.

He knows that set of three.

He’s never felt it on his palm before, but the longer Steve repeats the pattern, the more clearly he can hear them as…beeps.

He’s heard these beeps before.

Steve takes his finger off his palm, maybe thinking that Bucky isn’t getting it.

“Keep going, Steve. Don’t stop. I think—I’m on the right track. Maybe. Keep doing it. It’s jogging something in my memory.”

Steve resumes the pattern.

Tap, tap, tap.

Line, line, line.

Tap, tap, tap.

The longer he does it, the more clearly Bucky can hear the echoes of beeps in his head.

The taps become little high pitched noises. Dit.

The lines are longer sounds. Dah.

Di, di, dit.

Dah, dah, dah.

Di, di, dit.

He finally gets it. Of course the pattern is familiar! Jesus Christ—how did he not recognize it earlier?!

“Steve—is that SOS? Are you doing Morse code?”

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.

Steve is clearly thrilled that he caught on.

That’s—oh, my God. Maybe Steve is on to something.

“You think you can use Morse code to talk to me?”

Tap, tap.

Bucky’s a bit skeptical. They’d both learned Morse code during the war, but Gabe had been their go-to translator. Bucky thinks he remembers most of the letters, but he’s never translated without being able to scribble things down at the same time. Plus, his brain has been zapped by a lot of electricity since then. He has no idea if he can do this.

“Okay, let’s try. But slow. Let me figure out every letter before you do the next one, okay?”

Tap.

Di, di, di, dit.

Pause.

Four dots. That’s….he combs through his memory. That’s an H.

“H.”

Tap.

Di, dit.

Two dots. S? No, S is three dots. Two dots is…I.

“I.”

Tap.

Steve’s fingers are resting on his palm, not spelling anything. That must mean the word is finished.

H and I.

H-I.

Oh! “Oh! Hi! _Hi!_ Hi, Stevie!”

Tap, tap, tap on the back of his hand. Then he’s being pulled forward and he feels his face bump into Steve’s chest. Steve’s chest is rumbling and he’s squeezing Bucky.

Steve is definitely happy.

Bucky’s grinning, very pleased with himself. He pushes himself off Steve and holds out his hand. “Do another one, Stevie!”

Dah, di, di, dit.

“D.”

Rub.

“No? Are you sure? That’s not a D?”

Rub.

Shit. Dah, di, di, dit.

“Oh, that’s a B. Sorry.”

Tap.

Di, di, dah.

“U.”

Tap.

Dah, di, dah, dit.

He remembers that one. “C.”

Dah, di, dah.

“K. Right? That’s K?”

Tap.

Steve’s fingers aren’t moving. They’re at the end of the word.

But shit, Bucky has been concentrating so hard on deciphering each individual letter that he’s completely forgotten what the letters were. He remembers there was a C and a K, but nothing before.

“Damn, I’m sorry, Stevie. I already forgot the first two.”

Steve doesn’t miss a beat—he re-starts the letters from the beginning.

Dah, di, di, dit.

“Oh, right. B. What was the second one?”

Di, di, dah.

“U. Okay—B-U-C-K. Oh! Buck! That’s me!”

Tap, tap, tap.

Steve flattens his hand out again.

Di, di, di, dit.

“H.”

Di, dah.

“A.”

Di, dah, dah, dit.

It takes him second, but then he knows it’s a P. “P.”

Di, dah, dah, dit.

“I already said P. Was I wrong?”

Rub.

“Then do the next one. I already said P.”

Rub, rub, rub.

Di, dah, dah, dit.

Bucky’s starting to feel tired. This is way, way harder than he thought it would be.

“That’s P. We’ve been over this a hundred times, Rogers.”

Tap.

Di, dah, dah, dit.

Bucky’s starting to feel annoyed. “That’s…a… _P_.”

Tap.

Dah, di, dah, dah.

“C.”

Rub, rub.

Dah, di, dah, dah. Steve is pressing the last dah into his palm very hard, as if he’s trying to indicate that it’s the contributor to Bucky’s error.

“That’s a C. Why ain’t that a C?”

He’s feeling completely drained.

Rub, rub, rub.

Dah, di, dah, dah.

He can’t remember.

“I don’t know, Stevie. I’m sorry. I don’t remember that one.” Plus, he can’t even remember the other letters they had been spelling. He knows they did P a bunch of times, but he’s forgotten everything else.

“I’m—Steve, I’m sorry but this is exhausting. If I could write down the letters while I’m translating, it would be easier, but I can’t. This—this is too hard right now. Can’t we do simple things? Like our yes and no? I like those. They’re easy.”

Steve squeezes his hand and then Bucky feels a kiss pressed into his palm.

Steve taps Bucky on the chest with their clasped hands. That’s pretty clear. “Me? That means me, right?”

Tap.

Steve taps two dots on his palm, followed by a half circle underneath.

Bucky’s about to get annoyed—hadn’t he just told the man that he doesn’t want to do more code today? But then he realizes the half circle isn’t part of code.

It’s almost like he’s…drawing something?

“Do it again.”

Two dots beside each other. A half circle underneath.

Definitely not code. The two dots are very deliberately being placed beside each other, and the half circle is definitely underneath. So all those items must be part of one picture.

It’s almost like two eyes and a mouth underneath…?

“A smiley face?”

Tap. Then Bucky feels Steve poke him in the chest again—twice for good measure, and he does the smiley face.

“Me? Smiley face? Me—am I happy?”

Tap.

“Yay! Okay, do another one.”

Steve repeats the smiley face, but this time, the half circle is upside down. That’s easy. After Steve jabs Bucky in the chest, Bucky immediately knows. “Am I sad?”

Tap.

Oh, this is better. Bucky feels his confidence flooding back. “More.”

Bucky feels himself being jabbed in the chest again, then he feels all of Steve’s fingers chomping on the edge of his hand. It’s almost as if he’s trying to eat his—“Hungry? Am I hungry?”

Tap.

There’s a bit of shuffling, and Steve is pulling Bucky’s hand forward—until he’s brushing cold glass. That’s the glass of water Steve had put on the small table in front of the couch.

Bucky’s happy that Steve hadn’t decided to press the glass to Bucky’s lips. In general, he’s happy Steve hasn’t done any symbols that involve touching his face unexpectedly. He’s fine with Steve unexpectedly touching his hand, but having anybody touch his face when he’s not expecting it would freak him out.

Steve taps Bucky’s hand on Bucky’s chest, then gently touches the glass of water again.

Bucky gets it. “Am I thirsty?”

Tap.

Bucky frowns. “That ain’t real practical. We should do a hand symbol for it too so you can ask me when we don’t have a glass round.”

Steve pauses for a while, then he gently rubs the edge of Bucky’s hand, right where he had done the chomping motion for eating.

“That works. Just don’t do it on the back of my hand—that’s no, remember?”

Bucky’s exhausted. Doing these small symbols is much easier than the lengthy spelling, but he’s already used up a lot of energy. He wants to call it quits for today, but if this is important for Steve, he’ll do a few more. He doesn’t really understand why Steve needs to be able to ask him if he’s happy or hungry—Bucky will tell him if he is.

But maybe Steve likes being able to ask him things.

Maybe Steve is feeling powerless too.

And Bucky realizes it’ll be nice for Steve to tell Bucky how he’s feeling or if he’s hungry.

“How about toilet? What are we gonna do for that? Just don’t spell out ‘toilet’ or ‘washroom’, those are way too long.”

Steve thinks for a while. When he can’t seem to come up with anything, Bucky thinks it over.

“Give me your hand.”

He feels for Steve’s hand and flattens it out on Steve’s thigh. He places the tips of his index and middle fingers on Steve’s palm and ‘walks’ them forward a few steps.

“See? This is somebody walking into the toilet—”

Then Bucky lets his fingers collapse against Steve’s palm. “And these are somebody’s shorts being pulled down. Or I guess it could be somebody sitting down on the toilet? Either way, I think that’ll work.”

He does it again—walking two fingers across Steve’s palm and then having the fingers ‘sit’ down.

He notices Steve’s palm is shaking.

“What? Are you okay?”

He touches Steve’s chest and feels it vibrating. When he touches Steve’s face, he can feel the huge grin on his face.

The punk is laughing at him.

“Are you laughing at my genius? If you ain’t careful, I’m gonna get offended, you twit!” He lightly smacks Steve in the chest.

He feels Steve pull him against his chest and Bucky presses his face into Steve’s shirt. Steve kisses his temple and gives him an apologetic squeeze.

Bucky acknowledges that his toilet symbol might be a bit funny, but honestly he’s too exhausted to have a good laugh about it. He also realizes he’s hungry.

“Stevie, give me your hand.”

He takes Steve’s hand and puts it on his thigh, smoothing it out. Time to let Steve see what it’s like to listen without hearing anything.

He taps their hands on his own chest, then he does the chomping motion on the edge of Steve’s hand.

Steve pulls his hand free and sticks his thumb on Bucky’s open fingers. He’s pushing down, encouraging Bucky’s fingers to curl around his thumb.

Bucky waits—trying to figure out what he’s doing. Having his fingers wrapped around Steve’s thumb isn’t an obvious representation of anything.

He gets his answer when Steve’s other hand unwraps Bucky’s fingers and encourages his fingers to explore the rest of Steve’s hand      .

Bucky can feel that Steve’s hand is folded into a closed fist, except his thumb, which is pointing straight up.

He’s—he’s giving Bucky a thumbs-up.

Oh, this adorable dork.

“Should that be our symbol for okay? The thumbs up?”

Tap, tap.

Bucky grins. Oh, this is so much better than the exhausting spelling. “I love that! Excellent. Look at us go! We’re doing so good. Come on, Stevie. Let’s make some food. And by make food I mean, you make the food and I’ll be the taste tester.”

He feels himself being pulled forward and he’s pressed into Steve’s chest again. He feels Steve’s chest rumbling and Steve’s lips are smiling against his temple. He’s laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used [this site](http://cryptomuseum.com/radio/morse/) as well as the Morse Code [wikipedia article](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Morse_code) as references.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two steps forward, three steps back, four steps forward. There is a light at the end of this tunnel, Steve and Bucky just have to find it. Enjoy!
> 
> I've embedded a link to an amazing sketch which [LABB](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LABB/pseuds/LABB) drew for this chapter. I won't spoil it by giving away the details, but if you miss the link in the story, I'll put it into the end notes too.

Over the next few days, things get worse rather than better.

Whenever he’s moving around, that crippling fear grips him and he doesn’t really register until later that he’s clinging to Steve’s arm and forcing Steve to take care of himself and Bucky at the same time. As soon as he’s sitting on the couch, he feels better and he starts feeling guilty that he’s more helpless than a small child.

He’s as helpless as Steve used to be during a delirious fever episode.

He spends every second of the day and night glued to Steve’s side. When he’s sitting down somewhere, he feels a bit safer and he can focus on doing small tasks himself as long as Steve’s pressed against his side.

On the third day, Bucky realizes it’s absolutely ridiculous that Steve has to feed him and help him drink. He’s got a perfectly good arm and he’s not weak from any illness. As long as Steve is pressed against his side, he should be able to eat and drink by himself.

It’s not perfect. Bucky can’t see what’s on his plate, and only having one utensil for help can make certain meals messy. Food gets pushed off the plate, food falls off his fork or spoon and lands in his lap, and large pieces of food need to either be cut by Steve or stabbed with a fork and eaten in little bites. Steve doesn’t allow him to use a knife for safety reasons—and when Bucky stabs himself in the face with the fork a number of times, he appreciates Steve’s foresight—but with practice it gets easier. Steve starts putting his food into bowls instead of plates, and that decreases the food spillage. His bowl always slides all over the place, which gets frustrating quickly, so Steve stacks rolled up towels around the bowl to keep it in place. It must look bizarre, but Bucky can eat by himself and that’s what important.

When drinking, he needs to line up the cup very carefully with his lips and lift it slowly to make sure he doesn’t end up dumping the contents all over his face or choking. Steve had offered him a straw, but Bucky had refused. He’s not a five year old kid. He’s been drinking by himself for decades—he can handle this.

Meal times take forever, but it’s not like he doesn’t have the time. While he’s eating, he always has to stop every few bites and touch Steve just to anchor himself. He can feel him by his side, but touching him makes it better.

He learns to use the toilet himself and gets pretty comfortable using the sink and brushing his teeth himself, as long as Steve has guided him there and is right by his side.

Overall, these little feats of independence should make a big difference, but they actually don’t. Except for those small things, he needs Steve’s help for everything else.

He can’t dress himself. He can’t walk around by himself. He can’t stay anywhere by himself. He can’t bathe himself. He can’t prepare food for himself. He can’t do anything except sit and cling to Steve.

That’s not the worst part. As long as he’s doing something—following Steve around or doing one of his little solo activities—he can keep the fear at bay. But as soon as he doesn’t have anything to do—like at night when he’s in bed—his brain has nothing else to do other than make him fear the darkness and silence around him.

He asks Steve to get up multiple times during the night to check the deadbolt on the door, and he doesn’t dare stay in bed by himself if Steve has to use the bathroom.

After a few nights, he’s lying in Steve’s arms, trying desperately to fall asleep, but as usual, his brain isn’t letting him. The back of his neck keeps tingling, reminding him that someone might come into the room—or someone might already be in the room—and he wouldn’t know.

Objectively he knows that Steve would hear an intruder and he’d protect them—but that thought does little to calm the anxious, fearful thoughts racing through his head. They keep chasing themselves around in his head, sending bursts of fear shivering down his spine and keeping him wide awake until exhaustion takes over and he falls asleep. Once he’s asleep, he sleeps well, but getting there is the struggle.

Like tonight.

He can feel Steve’s chest moving under his cheek. He’s fast asleep.

Bucky wishes he were fast asleep. But there’s no way he can get any rest until he’s checked the deadbolt again.

That means waking Steve.

He gently shakes him. “Stevie? Can we check the door?”

They’d already been up to check the door once that night, but his brain is being extra stupid tonight.

He feels Steve waking and Bucky waits for Steve to throw the covers off himself and start getting himself off the bed, but instead, he feels Steve tensing.

Moments later, he feels a thud on the bed. He startles, fear racing down his spine.

“What was that?”

Usually Steve would be reassuring him with kisses or hand squeezing, but he’s just lying there, very tense and still.

“Stevie? What’s wrong?”

Bucky runs his hand up Steve’s chest to his face, where he can feel his jaw is clenched. Bucky runs his hand down Steve’s arms. The arm on his far side is very tense and the hand is balled in an angry fist. Steve must have punched the bed out of frustration.

Steve’s—

Steve’s angry.

Why?

“What’s wrong? Why are you mad? We—we don’t gotta check the door if you don’t wanna.”

Bucky really, really does want to check the door, but not if it makes Steve mad.

“Steve?”

Steve’s still not moving. When Bucky touches his face again, he can feel that Steve’s eyes are squeezed shut. His jaw is still clenched. He’s not crying.

Rogers is definitely angry about something.

Bucky wants to cry. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, sweetheart. Whatever I did, I’m sorry. Steve? I’m sorry.”

He desperately wants to know what he did to make Steve mad, but Steve doesn’t seem to be in the mood to explain.

Even if he could, would their meager collection hand signals be enough to allow Steve to explain himself? And when he’s this anxious, there’s no way Bucky can follow along if Steve wants to spell something complicated.

Damn it!

Bucky’s on the verge of panicking, when he feels Steve picking up his hand. Steve jabs his own chest with Bucky’s hand, then places his palm flat over Bucky’s, like somebody is lying flat in bed.

It’s a symbol they’d created yesterday.

Steve’s tired.

Then Steve’s jabbing himself in the chest with Bucky’s hand again and he draws two dots and an upside down half circle.

As if his body language wasn’t clear enough, Steve wants to make absolutely sure that Bucky gets it—

Steve’s not happy.

Thinking back, Bucky realizes that of course the man’s a bit tired and grumpy. Bucky’s been waking him up multiple times every night to help him go to the bathroom or check the stupid door.

But they’ve been sleeping quite a bit. In fact, he knows Steve’s been sleeping more than Bucky. Whenever Bucky feels scared enough to want to check the door, he always pushes it off as long as he can in order to let Steve sleep undisturbed as long as possible.

He shouldn’t be that tired.

He realizes with an abrupt lurch that Steve’s probably sick and tired of carting around an invalid who’s less capable of taking care of himself than a small child, but he still doesn’t understand why Steve’s so tired.

Abruptly, he’s aware that Steve’s pulling him off the bed. He follows.

When Bucky feels the deadbolt under his fingers, he’s overwhelmed with love for Steve. “Thank you. You—I know you’re still mad. Thank you. I’m sorry for making you mad. I won’t bother you about the door again.”

Steve’s leading him away from the door. They shuffle along until Bucky bumps his feet into some type of ledge. Steve gave him some hard toed slippers that Bucky can wear around the apartment without fear of stubbing his toes on things.

There shouldn’t be a ledge on the way to the bedroom….

Steve’s pulling him forward and Bucky suddenly feels warmth on his face.

He knows what this is.

Sunshine. They must be standing in the open door of the balcony and the sun is shining on his face.

Oh, that feels so good! He can’t believe he’d forgotten about being out in the sun since they’d come home! He’s about to tell Steve that he wants to go sit outside and soak up that wonderful sunshine—

But wait.

Wasn’t he just _sleeping_? Wasn’t it just night?

His stomach lurches with disorientation.

“Steve—what—is it _daytime_?!”

Tap.

“Then—why were we sleeping like it’s night?”

Bucky feels a jab on his own chest and then Steve’s palm is laid flat over Bucky’s. Right. He’d told Steve he was tired.

In fact, it’s always Bucky who tells Steve when he’s tired, and Steve always taken them right to bed.

“Stevie, am I messing up the time? Like day and night? Am I doing it wrong?”

Tap.

He sighs. Well, no wonder Steve’s exhausted. Jesus Christ!

He lets out an annoyed sigh. “Shit, I’m sorry. I thought my system would be so used to the schedule in the prison that it would keep going normally. I never realized…”

He feels his hand being squeezed. Steve’s thumb presses against Bucky’s fingers. He’s giving him a thumbs up.

“No, it’s not okay. Shit! Steve, I’m officially putting you in charge of deciding when we sleep. Obviously I have no idea when it’s day or night. All I’m doing is messing things up.”

He shakes his head, still annoyed with himself. He can no longer tell time—great. Add that to the long list of reasons why he’s now useless.

But—that doesn’t solve the problem that Steve is exhausted.

“Let’s go back to bed. You sleep as much as you want to catch up. Give me a book or something to do with my hands and that’ll keep my brain distracted enough that I won’t be scared.”

Steve isn’t moving.

“Come on, Rogers. Back to bed we go.”

They shuffle back to bed and Steve hands Bucky a sketch pad and a few pencils. Steve curls up beside him and is asleep in minutes.

Bucky amuses himself by sketching whatever comes into his head. As he scribbles, he’s kind of amused that he can’t see what a mess he’s creating. He can pretend they’re masterpieces like Steve’s sketches.

But best of all, the sketching keeps him distracted enough that Steve can sleep.

As he doodles, he makes a promise to himself. Starting today, he will learn to conquer his fear of the darkness and the silence and he’ll become more independent.

He can’t continue being such a ridiculous burden on Steve.

*             *             *

Steve had discreetly set his alarm clock to wake him in two hours. Bucky hadn’t noticed him setting it; he’d settled right in with the sketchpad and pencil, making himself comfortable against the headboard.

Steve wakes when the alarm goes off and he slowly reaches over to turn it off.

Bucky doesn’t notice.

Steve stays on his side and keeps his breathing even, letting Bucky think he’s still sleeping. He doesn’t want to sleep through most of the day again, but he doesn’t want to worry Bucky with the idea that Steve’s still too tired. He’ll fight through the day and hopefully sleep better at night.

Besides, he needs some time to think.

Number one priority is getting back on a normal schedule.

At first he hadn’t realized Bucky couldn’t tell whether it’s day or night. He figured Bucky was so exhausted from his time in the hospital that he needed to catch up.

But Bucky never slept longer than an hour or two. Sometimes he’d wake up and Steve would help him go to the bathroom, or they’d go to the door to check it, but then Bucky would randomly decide that it’s time to start a new day.

Sometimes they’d wake up in the middle of the night, sometimes in the middle of the day, or anywhere in between. Bucky seemed completely unaffected by his random schedule, but it was wreaking havoc on Steve’s system.

Steve had been doing a lot of research on the internet over the past few days and he’d come across the phrase ‘circadian rhythm abnormalities’, but he hadn’t really paid attention to it.

Now everything has fallen into place. Bucky’s body no longer receives any environmental cues that could tell him whether it’s day or night. He has to (literally) blindly follow his body’s cues whether he should be asleep or awake.

Steve has been waiting for Bucky’s body to adapt, but as the days have gone by, he’s started to realize that Bucky didn’t even realize this was an issue.

When he’d told Natasha about it yesterday, she’d told him that he needs to put his foot down and fix the issue before it becomes a more serious problem. Steve doesn’t want to push Bucky too hard, but she’d reasoned that there are some things which Bucky needs to be pushed on in order to stay healthy and happy.

They’ll have to settle into a normal schedule and force Bucky’s body to adapt. Steve will take over the responsibility of deciding when they should be sleeping and when they should be awake, and hopefully that’ll fix the problem.

The issue with the door checking is another problem.

He knows Bucky’s freaked out by the idea of not being able to hear if anybody opens the door.

How the hell can he fix it?

Maybe if he attaches a bell—oh, right.

His first few internet searches don’t help. All of the door indicators are either sound or light dependent. Hooking up lights to flash in every room when the door is opened won’t help. Nor will any sound effect.

Well.

That’ll require more thinking and research.

*             *             *

As soon as Bucky feels Steve shift, he lowers the pencil.

“Good morning, Stevie. It is morning, right?”

He feels the bed shake. He moves his hand to Steve’s face and feels his smile. Steve’s laughing at him. He feels a tap on his hand.

He pushes aside the sketchpad and pencil and runs his hand up to Steve’s chest to his face. Once he’s found Steve’s lips, he gives him a kiss.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so annoying, Stevie,” he says. He feels Steve’s lips moving. He kisses him. “No, don’t argue with me. I’ve been letting my fear run the show and that ain’t right. I wanna be more independent and give you more space, so I gotta conquer my fear.”

Steve’s quiet for a while, then Bucky feels him press his thumb against his fingers.

Okay.

Bucky smiles. “Good. To prove how serious I am, I’m gonna make it to the bathroom all by myself this fine morning.”

Rub, rub, rub.

Bucky scowls. “Let me try, punk. If it doesn’t go well, you can help me. But let me try.”

Nothing. Then, a very, _very_ reluctant tap.

Bucky climbs over Steve and scoots himself to the edge of the bed. He moves his toes around on the floor until he finds his slippers.

With slippers on, he slowly pushes himself to his feet.

He’s fine until he’s standing up. That’s when the familiar fear floods him and he’s paralyzed, standing adrift in the darkness.

He has to stop himself from sitting back on the bed.

This is ridiculous. He’s been standing for just a few seconds. He can do better than this.

Very, very slowly, he forces one foot to slide forward. Then the other foot.

He’s so focused on his feet that he forgets about the fact that he could be heading straight into a wall. Alarmed, he puts his hand out in front of him. He can feel his hand shaking. He’s trembling all over.

His heart’s hammering in his chest and he’s breathing way too fast. The darkness and silence are pressing on him from all directions.

He’s gonna fall. He’s gonna trip over something. He’s gonna be swallowed up whole.

A little shift with one foot. Then the other foot.

Another shift forward, and the other foot follows.

“How—how far am I from the bed?” he asks. He desperately hopes he’s at least half way there.

He feels Steve grasp his outstretched arm and pull it behind him—where he can feel the bed.

Damn. He’s only moved a few inches.

He swears under his breath, pulls his hand from Steve’s grasp and puts his hand out in front again.

Come on, left foot. A little forward. Okay. Now right foot, let’s go.

At this rate, he’ll reach the bathroom in about a year.

He squeezes his eyes shut. “I can’t do it,” he says. His throat feels tight. He wants to cry. “I—I’m too scared. I don’t know why. It’s stupid. I know even if I bump into something it won’t really hurt me,   but—”

He feels Steve grasp his hand and run his hand up Bucky’s arm to his face. He’s being pulled into Steve’s arms, with Steve’s lips moving against his temple.

Bucky takes deep breaths. Surrounded by something familiar, he immediately feels better.

Wait.

He pulls back.

“Steve, I wanna try something. Can you stand behind me and wrap your arms around my waist?”

Steve slides around him and dutifully anchors his arms around his waist, his chin hooked on Bucky’s shoulder.

“Okay. Now let me try. Don’t push, just follow.”

With Steve plastered against his back, Bucky feels much safer. The darkness and silence can’t attack him from the back, or even the sides anymore. It’s like when he’s sitting on the couch. This is much better.

He sticks his hand out and slides his left foot forward. He feels himself taking a much longer slide than before. His right foot follows.

Left foot again. Then the right foot.

He feels Steve turning his face so he’s pressed against Bucky’s neck. Bucky can feel him smiling and his lips moving, probably saying encouraging things.

Bucky’s so focused on moving forward that he barely notices when Steve gently steers his hips a bit to correct his direction. Other than that, he doesn’t interfere.

Bucky quickly realizes that he might bump into something that isn’t the same height as his hand, so he starts moving the hand up and down and side to side.

That’s how he ends up smacking his hand into something solid. Frowning, he grabs it and runs his hand along the surface. The table? No. There’s a smooth ledge sitting on the surface—and the smooth ledge quickly drops down into a bowl shape.

The sink.

Oh, my God, he made it into the bathroom!

“I did it, Stevie. Oh, my God, I did it!” Steve squeezes him tightly and presses kisses into his neck.

While he’s brushing his teeth, he realizes he hasn’t been paying attention at all when he’s been following Steve around, clinging to his arm. He hasn’t learned the layout of the apartment at all.

That’ll have to change, starting right now.

When they finish up in the bathroom, Bucky decides that instead of walking straight out, he’ll use the walls as guides. Every wall has to eventually lead to a door. Every door has more walls connected to it.

And given the fact that the apartment is in an enclosed space, he knows that if he traces the walls, he’ll eventually do a full circuit.

It might take him a year, but the faster he starts, the faster he’ll learn.

He presses his hand to the bathroom mirror and slowly shuffles to the left. Steve stays plastered against his back but doesn’t interrupt, except to move his lips against his neck so Bucky knows he’s saying something encouraging.

The hard surface of the mirror is replaced by the smooth wall. He follows it, and ends up in a corner. Not being deterred, he follows the corner, and there’s the rippled texture of the door frame. The doorframe ends and there’s open space.

The doorway.

They move through the doorway, Bucky’s hand back on the doorframe. He traces the doorframe to its other side, then he’s on a wall again.

He’s tracing the wall when he feels Steve gently pulling his hips back. When he runs his hand down the wall, he feels a piece of waist-high furniture that’s against the wall. He definitely would have bashed his hip into it if Steve hadn’t moved him.

He lets himself lean against the furniture, keeping his hand on the wall. He doesn’t want to lose the wall, but he wants to know how long this furniture is.

He makes a face when a bunch of knobs on the furniture dig into his stomach, but he keeps tracing the wall. They reach another corner and the furniture ends, then suddenly there’s a doorframe, but this time there’s a closed door.

Bucky frowns. There aren’t any closed doors in their apartment—then he feels the deadbolt.

“Ah, the front door! I know this fellow well,” he says, exploring the rest of the door with his hand.

They move to the kitchen, the living room, the balcony, then back inside the living room and into the bedroom. Along the way, he touches and explores every piece of furniture he encounters.

Bucky keeps a careful mental picture in his head of the orientation of the rooms and their relative spacing. It’s way too much to memorize in one go, but he feels it’s a doable goal.

After they do one circuit, Steve pulls him into the kitchen and makes them breakfast, but once they’re done eating, Bucky insists on doing another circuit.

Once that’s done, they have a seat on the couch and Steve starts typing on the computer again.

Bucky’s exhausted so he leans against Steve’s shoulder and is about to doze off, when he’s rudely jostled awake.

“Stevie, I’m tired.”

His palm is pulled out, and Steve places his palm flat against Bucky’s, then does a bunch of rubs on the back of his hand.

The message is clear.

“Okay, fine. No sleeping.”

Bucky must sound as mopey as he feels about the prospect of not sleeping. He’s not just tired, but sitting on the couch beside Steve is boring.

He feels Steve pause. Then his palm is pulled out again. A poke into Bucky’s chest. Two dots and an upside down half circle.

He pauses. Yeah. Yeah, he is a bit unhappy.

“I guess, yeah. I’m—I—I don’t wanna be ungrateful, Stevie, but it’s boring sitting here. I know you gotta do what you gotta do on the computer, but I can’t see what you’re doing, and honestly, when I sit here doing nothing, it’s even harder to stay awake and not let the fear crawl in.”

He feels Steve pause again, then he feels Steve getting up. He’s about to raise his arm for Steve to pull him up—but he pauses.

He feels Steve standing by his feet, waiting for him to get up too.

“You know what? If you’re only gonna be a few seconds, I can stay here by myself. I think.”

A question mark is drawn on his hand. Is he sure?

“Yeah. Yeah, let’s try. Just be quick. Please.”

He sinks back against the couch. There are pillows beside him and he pulls them so they’re propped against his sides. He feels better like this—surrounded on nearly all sides by safety.

Steve disappears somewhere. A few seconds later—the punk must have sprinted—he’s back, gently putting the sketchpad and the pack of pencils on Bucky’s lap.

Bucky grins. “Oh, that’s great! Thanks, Stevie. Oh, can we go sit outside?”

Bucky holds the sketchpad and pencils in his hand and feels Steve grasp his elbow to help him up.

As soon as he feels himself leaving the safe cocoon of the pillows and the couch, he starts feeling scared again.

Damn. If only he could carry the couch around with him. The only other solution is having Steve plastered against his back, but that’s not a long-term solution—

“Do we have a spare blanket I can sit outside with?”

He feels Steve releasing his elbow. Steve’s hesitating.

“I’ll be okay. Just be quick.”

He sinks back against the pillows, until Steve’s back again. Bucky feels a blanket dropping into his lap.

He puts the sketchpad and pencils down and struggles to shake out the blanket with one hand. Steve helps. “Okay, can you help me drape the blanket over me?”

It’s a nice, fuzzy blanket and Bucky immediately likes how it feels when it’s draped across his shoulders and runs down his back. This might work.

Steve takes the sketchpad and pencils out of his lap, leaving his hand free to hold the blanket closed under his chin.

With a heave, he manages to get to his feet without help. He can feel the coffee table press into his shins. He knows he has to go around the coffee table, then walk straight forward to get to the balcony.

He feels Steve hovering, a hand by his elbow, ready to help him.

Slowly, he shuffles sideways, letting his shins tell him when he’s reached the end of the coffee table.

Then it’s time to move forward. As soon as he’s left the safety of the furniture, he starts feeling scared again, but the blanket helps. He pulls it tight around his neck and feels it embrace him in safe warmth.

The darkness can’t attack him through his safe blanket shield.

It _can’t_.

He hopes.

He slowly shuffles forward, one foot at a time. He can feel Steve behind him, both hands on his hips, but Steve isn’t plastered against him as before. He has no idea how the punk is holding the sketchpad and pencils, but that’s the least of his concerns right now.

Slowly, very slowly, he shuffles forward. “Steve, is there anything in front of me except the balcony door at the end?”

Steve leans around him and rubs the back of his hand that’s clutching the blanket.

Okay, good. He can do this.

The promise of sunshine pulls him forward and he carefully slides one foot in front of the other, until he bumps the front of the slippers against the balcony door frame.

He feels a rumble beneath his feet—Steve must have reached around him to pull open the door. Bucky carefully lifts one foot and feels around with the foot to find the opening in the balcony.

Steve tightens his grip on Bucky’s hips when he tilts forward, his foot searching for the balcony floor.

When he’s found it, he plants his foot and carefully brings the other foot across. He shuffles forward until he bumps into something.

He releases his tight grip on the blanket and touches the thing he’d bumped into.

He feels fabric, pulled taut, but that’s all the information he gathers before he has to pull the blanket closed again.

“Stevie, can you help me sit down somewhere?”

He feels Steve press up against his back and wrap one arm around Bucky’s waist. He’s gently pushed over—and he’s being pulled down. He’s about to panic, but Steve keeps a strong grip on him—and then he’s sitting on a chair.

And oh, it’s wonderful!

The warm sunshine is streaming down, bathing his face in warmth. The blanket he’s wrapped in soaks up the heat and he’s sitting in a nice toasty cocoon. [He tilts his face back, smiling](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10823220/chapters/28173261).

This darkness isn’t frightening. This darkness is warm and safe and just wonderful.

“Stevie, this is wonderful. I could stay out here all day.”

He feels Steve squeeze his hand. When Steve’s hand leaves him, he realizes he actually doesn’t know where Steve is. He could have gone back into the apartment, he could be standing right beside him.

But he finds he’s okay.

He feels safe and comfortable right where he is. He releases his tight grip on the blanket and snuggles back into it. He opens up the sketchpad and takes out a pencil and starts doodling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed our little baby steps forward! The boys are now facing the right direction--but they have a long way to go still. I'd love to hear what you thought of these two chapters!
> 
> If you missed the wonderful sketch which LABB drew of Bucky sitting out on the porch swing, it's [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10823220/chapters/28173261)!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's makes significant strides forward in terms of regaining his independence, and there's also some backstory, providing details of the time Steve and Bucky spent on the run before he went to prison. Enjoy!

Sitting outside becomes Bucky’s favourite activity. He can’t really explain it—he thinks it has something to do with the apartment being so utterly… _still_.

Outside, things are never still. He can feel the warmth of the sun, and the way the warmth shifts across his face as the sun moves during the day. There are always different smells—cigarette smoke from a nearby neighbor, the exhaust from cars, different food smells drifting around as their neighbors cook various dishes during the day. When it rains, everything has a moist scent over it. He can feel the wind and even rain drops if he stands up and stretches his hand out from under the awning—it’s all moving and surrounding him, and his functional senses are so busy enjoying those things that he doesn’t have time to be scared.

But even when he’s inside, sitting by himself is getting more bearable—if he’s wrapped in blankets and sitting on the couch with a bunch of pillows around him.

They re-organize the bedroom a bit—re-arranging the bed so Bucky’s side is up against the wall, jammed into the corner. He has to climb over Steve or scoot to the bottom to get out, but he’s got tons of pillows propped against the wall and the corner, so when he’s wrapped up in his blankets, he’s got the wall and the pillows on one side, and Steve on the other, and there’s no part of him that the darkness can wrap around anymore.

He still needs Steve to help him check the door at night, but he’s gotten it down to only checking once per night, so that’s heading in the right direction too.

*             *             *

Bucky spends a lot of time focusing on crossing off two big goals on his list. He wants to be able to do everything in the bathroom by himself, and he wants to undress himself without help.

After days of practice, those two goals are conquered. Steve’s always there, ready to help if needed, but mostly he just hovers by the open doorway, watching.

Bucky takes off his clothes on his own in the bedroom before going into the bathroom. When he’s sitting on the bed, he can do it even with one hand. He keeps the clothes on the bed—putting away clothes is something that’s still Steve’s job—and makes his way into the bathroom with Steve’s guidance.

He sits on the closed toilet lid to turn on the shower. He finds the shower tap and faucets and turns the water on all by himself. Climbing into and out of the tub is still nerve wracking—he’s practiced a bunch of times, but he still goes slowly—sitting on the edge of the tub, slowly swinging one leg over, then the other. When he’s sitting on the ledge, facing the tub wall, he reaches forward and finds the metal bar that Steve has drilled into the wall. He wraps his hand around it and pulls himself up. Keeping hold of the bar helps keep him oriented. Once he’s standing, he slowly pulls the curtain closed.

Showering is pretty easy. All of the shower stuff he needs is in a basket glued to the wall, right below the bar. He knows which bottles of liquid he needs in which order and they’re never moved into a different spot. Even if he loses track of what he’s doing—sometimes the fear overwhelms him and makes him forget what step he’s on—he can smell the bottle that’s in his hand and he’ll know what it’s for. Steve’s put a stool into the bathtub so Bucky can sit while he’s scrubbing himself, lowering the chances of him falling over. He stands up to rinse off and he can hold the bar while he does that. It takes a while, but every day he gets faster and more confident. Sometimes the fear comes back and he gets disoriented, but usually all he has to do is sit on his stool and hold the bar, and those points of safety help keep him anchored.

If the fear doesn't recede after a while, Bucky will call for Steve, and he'll put his arm into the shower and squeeze Bucky's hand. That usually helps calm him down.

But those days are getting less frequent as time goes by. Following the step-by-step routine helps keep him focused and doesn’t allow his mind to wander and dwell on the darkness.

Once he’s done, he pulls aside the curtain and climbs out the same way he’d gotten in. He feels along the bathroom wall for his towel, which is always the first towel he touches. He dries himself off and hangs the towel back up. With his hand still on the towel, he slowly turns around. He takes his hand off the towel, reaches forward—and grabs the edge of the counter. Perfect.

Putting toothpaste on a toothbrush with one hand is difficult, but Bucky’s getting used to it. Brushing his teeth is easy. He finds the faucet and taps by touch and turns the water on to rinse his mouth and the toothbrush. Then he runs the back of his hand along the countertop until he reaches the cup where his toothbrush lives.

He knows it’s where his toothbrush belongs—Steve’s stuff now lives on a high shelf, while Bucky’s stuff stays on the countertop.

Toothbrush put away, he carefully finds the toothpaste cap—the morning he’d dropped it on the floor had been very frustrating—screws it back on and puts the toothpaste back into its spot.

Then he finds his comb and brushes his hair. He can’t put up his hair with one hand, so Steve does that for him, but Bucky can at least comb his hair himself.

He uses the toilet by himself and washes his hand.

Then it’s time to shave. He’s very grateful that they’re living in the twenty-first century with electric shavers. There’s no way he could have safely shaved himself while blind and one-handed back in the 40s. But with the electric shaver he can get it done.

There are still many things that Bucky can’t do, but he tries to add a few new skills to his routine every week.

He’s very relieved that things are getting more bearable. When he’d woken up the hospital, he thought he’d made a huge mistake and that his life would be nothing but darkness and fear—but slowly, things are getting brighter.

Plus, he gets to be around Steve every single day, and that right there would have made it worthwhile anyway—but it’s nice that he’ll get more than just Steve’s company out of this new life.

Sometimes when he’s lying awake at night, scared and waiting as long as possible before waking Steve to check the door, he starts having regrets about the whole thing.

He’ll think back to how the whole mess had started and berate himself about all the things he could have done differently.

When he’d tailed Steve in Washington after the punk had come back from searching for him, Bucky should have been more cautious about approaching him.

He’d been too focused on Steve; watching him spend his days at the museum, sitting in that half empty apartment by himself, or looking for Bucky in all the wrong places. Every time he’d seen Steve, a new memory had come back—sleeping in a tent in the pouring rain somewhere in Europe, riding the Cyclone on Coney Island in the summer heat, sitting next to Steve’s bed and reading to him when he was too sick to hold up a book himself.

Bucky allowed himself to focus on those memories and he became complacent.

He should have known that Steve was being tailed by Tony Stark and SHIELD. He should have seen the signs. But he was spending his days lost in memories and wanting to see Steve smile again—so he approached the punk one random afternoon on the street.

And that’s when everything had fallen apart.

As soon as the SHIELD agents and Stark surrounded the two of them, Bucky could see by the look on Steve’s face that he hadn’t known he was being tailed either. Maybe Steve had been too lost in his own head too.

Of course, Steve’s shock hadn’t lasted long—he put himself between the guns and Bucky and informed them that he wasn’t letting them take Bucky.

Stark tried to reason with him—pointing out that Bucky was a criminal and needed to face justice and blah blah blah. Bucky was paying more attention to Steve, who stuck his hand behind his back and was giving Bucky very familiar hand signals. He’d seen those hand signals more times than he could count.

He knew what the punk wanted, and within moments, Bucky made another one of the decisions that would lead them to where they are today.

Bucky pulled out two guns, slapped one into Steve’s outstretched hand, and kept the other. They both dove behind a nearby car, and the fight was on.

They successfully got away from Stark and SHIELD and run for it. Steve took his cash out of his wallet and then threw his SHIELD-issue phone, his apartment keys and his wallet into the trash. By that evening, they were stowing away on a plane for Europe with only the clothes on their backs, Steve’s bit of cash, two guns and a knife.

Bucky made a fuss as soon as they had a second to catch their breath. The last thing he wanted to do was turn Steve into a fugitive. Steve gave him an unimpressed look and told him that, first of all: there’s no way in hell he was standing by while the government locked Bucky away for crimes he had been forced to commit and didn’t even remember; and second of all: end of the line, Barnes.

End. Of. The. Line.

Being on the run wasn’t hard. They were used to making do with nothing. They probably confounded Stark—who was probably expecting them to use some sort of technology that he could trace—but they didn’t have anything on them and didn’t need such things anyway.

They were Brooklyn boys from the 1930s. Using paper maps, buying paper tickets with cash, stowing away on trains and planes, and sleeping in abandoned buildings was all second nature. Steve had about $30 on him, which Bucky was shocked to find out wouldn’t get them very much, but it didn’t matter. They bartered where they could—exchanging a bit of work for food or other things, and exchanging those other things for stuff they needed or selling them for cash. They slept where they could: abandoned buildings, barns, under bridges, or motels when they could barter for a free night.

They didn’t have much time for personal discussions since most of their conversations focused on what their next step should be—where to go and where to get food and other supplies—but after Bucky realized Steve was being just as careful as he was to avoid any potentially intimate contact, he waited until they settled down in the hay loft of a barn in their second week and then he rolled over to face Steve.

“Stevie, listen. I want you to know that I remember basically everything from before. I remember everything important. And in case you’re wondering, I still feel the same that I did before. I understand if you don’t, that’s okay, but I want you to know that I do. And—”

The rest of his carefully planned speech disappeared when Steve grabbed him and kissed him. It turned out that kissing Steve Rogers in the 21st century was no different than kissing him in the 20th century.

It’s like hardly any time had passed, except instead of fighting Nazis, they were fighting SHIELD and Tony Stark.

For both of them, the situation started out as a grey area.

For Steve, he was conflicted because he’d been friends with Tony, and he knew the SHIELD agents were just following orders.

For Bucky, he was conflicted because he knew that people—like the SHIELD agents—who didn’t know the full story of the Winter Soldier assumed he was a cold-blooded killer, and cold-blooded killers belong in prison.

But then Stark made it clear that the situation was not grey for him.

At all.

It was clear the man was devoting tons of resources and money to hunt them down. They noticed the local police in practically every town they were in giving them weird looks, trying to see through the layers of baseball caps and sunglasses that they wore. When things got very shifty, Steve would switch to speaking in French or German and although they were both far from fluent in either language, they could hold basic conversations with each other, and more importantly, they could confuse the hell out of law enforcement officials who were looking for two English speaking Americans.

SHIELD agents seemed to pop up wherever they went, speaking to shopkeepers in the cities and farmers in rural centers. Their faces were constantly splashed on the front pages of every newspaper they saw, with the reward money for providing information growing each day.

Bucky was made out to be the most ruthless, dangerous psychopath to have ever lived, and Steve was a no-good criminal who was protecting him and spitting on his victims.

There was no way that the American government was devoting that much time and money to hunting them both, so Bucky was pretty sure Stark was behind it.

As the weeks had turned to months, and the SHIELD agents got no closer to nabbing them, Stark decided he had enough of that approach and he waded in.

They got into skirmishes daily and Stark seemed to care less and less over how many innocent people were around when he attacked. Steve and Bucky refused to separate and they did their best to keep to areas that weren’t flooded with people, but hiding in a city was much easier than hiding in open farmland, and they had more access to food and shelter in a bustling city.

They realized pretty quickly that Stark wanted Bucky alive, but he didn’t care about Steve. And if Steve wanted to put himself between Bucky and Stark, he had no problem going through Steve to get to Bucky.

As time wore on, Stark and Steve both got angrier, both convinced that they were on the right side things.

Bucky was just exhausted.

He wasn’t just physically tired, but Steve’s anger made the punk more reckless—as if that was news—and he didn’t care if he threw himself in front of Stark’s energy blasts or a SHIELD agent’s firing gun, as long as he could protect Bucky and other people. And protecting Steve when he was hell-bent on getting into a fight was always a tough job. Bucky had been doing it for nearly 30 years and it never got easier.

Bucky was so busy trying to keep Steve and himself alive that he didn’t noticed Natasha for a long time.

It wasn’t until he was rummaging through a pharmacy which he broke into late at night that he came face to face with her for the first time. He wasn’t paying a lot of attention to his surroundings because Steve was wounded and unconscious and Bucky dragged his dead weight into the pharmacy after he forced the door open with his metal arm. He found some first aid supplies to replenish their kit and he was searching through the shelves and gathering whatever food and other things he needed—when he heard a female voice from behind him comment that he should grab Steve a can of coke so he’d have something to look forward to once he wasn’t half-dead.

When Bucky spun around saw her standing between him and Steve, he nearly had a heart attack—until he realized that if she wanted to harm either of them, she could have done so already. He knew who she was and he’d seen her interacting with Steve in Washington, but he also knew she worked for SHIELD.

They stood there, staring at each other, an unconscious Steve slumped against the shelves behind her. Then she walked over to the freezers, pulled out a can of coke and threw it towards him.

He struggled to catch it with his arms full of supplies, and by the time he sorted himself out, she was gone.

When he told Steve about it, he wasn’t surprised that she was playing both sides. They didn’t know what her long term plans were—maybe she didn’t either—but it was clear that she didn’t want to harm any of her friends.

Bucky paid more attention from that point on, and now that he was watching for it, signs of Natasha were everywhere. While teams of SHIELD agents swarmed around the building they were hiding in and Stark flew overhead, he could hear a female voice shout out an order that drew the agents away from their location. When he was about to break into a grocery store for supplies a few nights later, he found a note stuck in the door, letting him know the key was under the door mat. When they went in, a packed shopping basket was waiting by the door, a paid receipt stuck amongst the supplies.

As the weeks wore on and it became clear that the only ending Stark would accept was catching him, Bucky figured it was up to him to stop this craziness.

After yet another skirmish where Tony threw Steve through a wall with those energy blasters of his, Bucky was trying to put Steve back together in a damp cave somewhere in Eastern Europe. Steve was taking longer and longer to recover, which was a clear sign that his body was getting tired.

And he might be a super human, but at the end of the day, he was human.

Bucky gently propped Steve up between his legs, letting him rest against Bucky’s chest, and fed him soup and medicine a few spoonfuls at a time.

He couldn’t count how many times they’d been in this exact position—Bucky desperately trying to keep Steve alive, one mouthful at a time.

But at least those other times Steve had been fighting for other people and other causes, not Bucky.

And Bucky started to realize that he was the only one who could end this conflict without Steve ending up dead.

So during their next skirmish, Bucky purposefully separated himself from Steve for a few minutes and went looking for Natasha. They pointed their guns at each other but neither had pulled the trigger. He told her that he wanted to negotiate his surrender but he’d only speak to her. She nodded and told him that she’d be in touch.

A few days later, Bucky went looking for supplies—Steve was conscious but weak and had insisted on remaining behind in their current hiding place while Bucky went to get supplies—and he found a note stuck under the cans of cake, giving him a time and a place.

His demands were simple. He’d turn himself in and cooperate fully, but he wanted to go into the government’s custody, not SHIELD’s or Stark’s. Plus, he wanted full immunity for Steve. In addition, people would probably wonder why he’d asked Natasha to help him with this, so he wanted full immunity for her too.

He realized later that he should have probably made demands about keeping his arm, but he hadn’t even considered that they’d take it from him.

He’s spent a lot of time thinking back over the entire mess, but overall he doesn’t regret his decisions. Every single one of his decisions had been made because he wants to spend the rest of his life with Steve Rogers and he’s known for a long, long time that he enjoys life a lot more when he has the punk by his side.

He could have chosen to stay away from Steve in Washington.

He could have chosen to leave Steve while they were on the run, and gamble that Natasha would get Steve out of trouble eventually.

He could have chosen to continue running and fighting with Steve by his side.

He could have chosen to remain in prison waiting for Steve to come up with something—knowing it might take years for him to find something, and the government could ignore Steve’s plans anyway.

He’d made every decision knowing that the alternative was losing Steve—either because the stubborn ass would get himself killed, or Bucky would be forced to stay away from him.

Their current situation isn’t ideal—but every morning when Bucky wakes up and feels Steve sleeping next to him, and they cuddle up on the swing outside and listen to each other breathe, he’s happy with his decision.

*             *             *

“Hi, Rogers.”

Steve ignores her greeting. “They won’t give me back his arm.”

Natasha barely misses a beat. “I know. I told you they wouldn’t. They’ve classified it as a weapon.”

“It’s his _arm_ , Nat.”

“I know, but it’s not an ordinary prosthetic. You know that.”

“There are tons of tools that can do more dangerous things than that arm, and people are allowed to buy those.”

Steve hears her sigh softly. He knows what that means. She’s upset that he’s upset, but there’s nothing she can do.

She’d started sighing like that when Bucky was first locked up.

“Steve, think about it. Even if you got the arm back, what the hell would you do with it? They took off the arm, all the anchor points from his spine and ribs, all the electronic components—this isn’t something you can just snap back onto his side like a toy. Bucky would have to undergo multiple surgeries to re-attach the whole thing, which I’m betting would be pretty traumatic for him at this point—and anyway, who would do the surgery?”

Steve doesn’t reply.

“SHIELD wouldn’t allow their scientists to help, you know that. And even SHIELD barely understands how the arm functions. You’d have to trust some random doctor or engineer to figure it out. You really wanna take that risk?”

Steve clenches his jaw. “No.”

“There’s only one person who—”

Steve shakes his head. “No, Nat. Forget about Stark. I told you, I don’t mind if you’re friends with the man—that’s your business, but I don’t wanna deal with him ever again, and he doesn’t wanna deal with me and especially with Buck. And Buck wouldn’t wanna deal with Stark either.”

“Then forget about the arm.”

Steve doesn’t reply. He doesn’t wanna just give up on it. That arm was a part of Bucky and nobody had the right to remove it.

“Look, Rogers. I know you’re mad that they took it off—I’m sure Bucky is too. But it’s gone. Like his sight and his hearing, they’re gone, and you can either waste your time dwelling on that, or you can move forward. For now, there are a million things that you guys need to deal with—but replacing Bucky’s arm isn’t on top of that list, is it?”

Steve sighs. “No. No, you’re right. He’s—he could do some things faster if he had both arms—”

“But he’s not completely helpless or miserable because he’s missing his arm, right?”

Well—Natasha has a point. Things are slowly getting better. “No. Things are improving.”

“So let’s forget about the arm for now. Later, when things have calmed down, you can ask him if he wants a prosthetic or not.”

Steve sighs. “I just—I don’t feel right being the one to make that decision for him.”

“Has he asked about it?”

Steve blinks. “Well…no.”

“That’s because it’s not a top priority right now. Focus on the million other things on your list. Later, when things are calmer and you’re both more comfortable, you can have that conversation with him and decide what to do.”

*             *             *

Cooking is one of those things that Steve flatly refuses to let Bucky do. He doesn’t even like Bucky being in the kitchen while Steve’s cooking. Once Bucky is no longer clinging to Steve constantly, Steve forces him to stay out of the kitchen while he’s preparing their meals. Bucky assumes Steve’s worried that he’ll accidentally knock a hot pan off the stove or cut himself with something on the counter.

Steve Rogers, Mr. Worrier.

While Steve cooks, Bucky quietly sits on the couch, with his blanket around his shoulders and leaning into his nest of pillows. Eventually he feels Steve take his hand and do the munching gesture.

With Steve’s help, Bucky carefully shuffles from the couch to the table and takes his usual seat.

Yes, cooking is way too dangerous at this point, but Bucky thinks there’s a way he can contribute to the whole eating procedure.

“I wanna do the dishes,” he says when he’s done eating.

He feels Steve hesitate next to him—he’d been shifting in a continuous rhythm that means he was eating, but now he’s still.

“Jesus, Rogers. You’ve got enough money to buy more dishes if I break something. Just let me try. Please?”

Finally, there’s a reluctant tap on his hand.

Steve helps him into the kitchen—moving between rooms is still scary and takes forever—and puts the dirty dishes into the sink for Bucky. He puts the sponge into Bucky’s hand and moves his hand to touch the bottle of dish soap and the faucet.

“Okay, I got it.”

He turns on the faucet and adjusts the water temperature. He gets the sponge wet and puts it on the counter. He grabs the dish soap bottle and decides if he’s just going to guess where the sponge is—but that’ll create a mess. So he keeps hold of the bottle and stretches out a pinky finger, feeling for the sponge.

Having found it, he turns the bottle over and squeezes what he hopes is a small amount on it.

It’s times like these he sorely misses his left arm. Not the Hydra arm, but the arm he was born with.

But there’s no point wasting time being mopey about such things.

He needs to move forward, not be a sad sack about things he can’t change.

The bottle is returned to its spot, he grabs the sponge and puts it into the sink. He carefully feels for the first dish, then makes a face. He can’t do this one-handed when he’s got a thousand dishes in here.

“Steve, get the other dishes out of here, please. One at a time.”

He feels the other dishes being lifted out, then he’s left with just the one plate. He rubs the sponge over it, turns the plate over and rubs the other side with the sponge. The dish slides all over the place, so he tries keeping it jammed against a corner, but that’s not too successful. But he finally gets the plate clean.

Satisfied, he drops the sponge and holds the plate under the spray of water to get it rinsed off.

He hesitates, not knowing where the dish rack is—and doubting his ability to get it in there, but Steve saves him by grabbing the dish from him.

The other plate is put into the sink.

Bucky moves through all the dishes. The cutlery is very hard—he ends up chasing the cutlery around the sink bottom without much cleaning happening until Steve reaches in to hold the items steady.

He feels unbelievably proud of himself when he’s done. When he’s finished rinsing out the sponge and turning off the water, he can’t smother the grin on his face.

“All done. Piece of cake.”

He feels Steve wrap his arms around him and squeeze him tight. His lips are moving against his cheek.

He’s being turned around so he’s facing Steve, his back to the sink. Steve picks up Bucky’s hand, makes him poke Steve in the chest, rubs over Steve’s heart, then pokes Bucky.

“I love you too, Stevie. Thank you for the help.”

*             *             *

Within a few weeks of being home, Bucky asks Steve cut off his hair. He’s never really gotten accustomed to the long hair and it reminds him of being with Hydra, so he’s really not fond of it. To top it all off, dealing with his hair is another thing that Steve has to help him with, so it’s an easy decision for Bucky to ask Steve to grab scissors and chop it off.

They have to reassure each other a hundred times that they’re fine with his hair being short before Steve goes to get the supplies.

They’d always cut each other’s hair so Bucky has absolute faith in Steve’s ability to give him a half-decent haircut without making it look like somebody took a hacksaw to it.

Steve sits him on a chair in the kitchen with a towel draped around his neck, just like they did it back in the day. It’s very soothing having Steve running his hands through his hair, and the scissors and comb are gentle as they snip chunks of hair off.

It does feel a bit strange when he can no longer feel hair by his ears.

When it’s finally done, Steve lightly kicks him in the shins.

“Done?”

A tap.

Bucky reaches up and touches his hair—and has a heart stopping sense of déjà vu when he runs his hand over his hair and feels the same kind of hair that he’d had seventy years ago. It’s a bit shorter than he’d kept it back then, but he remembers Steve’s is shorter too. Probably a more modern style.

He smiles, satisfied. He doesn’t really care what it looks like—he’s just excited that he won’t have to fuss with it or ask Steve for help with it.

“Great! Thanks, Steve.”

The towel is pulled away and Steve helps Bucky makes his way to the couch. He waits while Steve cleans up, then he feels the couch dip beside him. He grins in Steve’s direction.

“So? You like my hair?”

There’s a hesitation before he feels the expected tap.

Bucky frowns. “Don’t tell me you changed your mind, punk. I asked you a million times whether you wanted me to keep it. I can grow it back out if you want.”

Rub, rub, rub.

Bucky twists on the couch and crawls into Steve’s lap. “Then why the hesitation? You should be overjoyed that I got rid of that mop.”

Steve’s tense and there’s a slight tremor in his chest when Bucky touches him. Bucky doesn’t understand why until he runs his hand up to Steve’s face and feels the tears.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong? I thought you liked the hair cut?”

Tap, tap, tap.

He puts his hand on Steve’s chest. He can feel him say something and taking shaky breaths. Bucky rubs his chest.

“It’s alright, honey. Even if it don’t look that great, it’ll grow back out and we can try again. Don’t worry about it.”

Steve’s chest is still tense and trembling.

Steve’s hand clutches Bucky’s where he’s pressing against Steve’s chest.

His hand is turned over.

Number sign.

His thumb is squeezed.

1.

Pause.

Starting from his thumb, the tip of each finger is squeezed one by one. When Steve reaches his pinky finger, he goes back to his thumb and counts off four more fingers. Bucky counts the squeezes.

1…2…3…4…5…6…7…8…9.

Pause.

Steve goes back to his thumb counts off four fingers—

1…2…3…4.

Pause.

And then back to his thumb and three fingers are counted off—

1…2…3.

Pause.

Steve’s fingers are resting on Bucky’s palm, not moving. He’s finished.

The numbers make no sense to Bucky at first.

1-9-4-3.

He tries to puzzle it out, not wanting to force Steve to offer up more explanations, but he’s coming up empty.

“I don’t understand, Stevie. I’m sorry. What’s 1-9-4-3?”

There’s a pause.

Then Steve is smoothing his hand across Bucky’s palm.

Oh, shit. Time for spelling.

Damn it! Immediately, he starts panicking. He tries to stay calm, but the spelling is still very hard and he doesn’t want to upset Steve by not getting words right. Steve never gets upset or annoyed, but Bucky knows eventually he’ll start getting frustrated at Bucky’s inability to do such a simple task properly.

“If it’s a word that’s got more than 3 letters, can you grab the board, please?” His good mood is already rapidly deserting him now that he knows he’s facing some stupid spelling, and the last thing he wants is to get into a complete snit if he forgets which letters Steve has spelled.

Steve shifts Bucky off his lap and disappears. He’s back moments later and slides a board onto Bucky’s lap. Bucky feels the smooth, cool surface. There’s nothing on it right now.

Then Bucky feels something plastic being slid underneath his exploring fingers. Steve is putting the letters on the board. They’re magnetic letters that stick to the board so Bucky can touch them without letters shifting all over the place.

As soon as the board is on his lap, some of his panic fades. He can do the stupid spelling when he’s got the board and the letters. He might still be slow at it, but it’s much better than without the board. If his stupid brain is focusing more on his panicking about forgetting letters, rather than _actually remembering the damn letters_ , Steve always has to repeat every word a bunch of times, and Bucky hates that.

He waits until Steve squeezes his hand, indicating he’s done.

Honestly, Bucky would love to just feel the letters on the board, but Steve insists on using Morse code too. He believes that it’ll eventually get easier for Bucky to remember and string together letters.

Bucky doubts it, but he’ll humor him. It’s really damn annoying that Steve has to get up, get the board and letters, come back to Bucky and lay out the letters—all to communicate a tiny word, but the harder Bucky tries to translate code without the plastic letters, the worse he seems to get.

He holds out his palm and takes a deep breath. Here we go.

Dah, di, dah, dah.

“Y.”

He touches the first plastic letter on the board. Two diagonal lines merging into one line. Yes, a Y.

Dit.

That’s easy. “E.”

He touches the plastic E on the board, re-tracing the Y and then the E again. Y-E.

Di, dah.

“A.” Its plastic counterpart confirms it.

Di, dah, dit.

“R.”

He can feel that the R is the last letter on the board, so they’ve reached the end of the word.

As usual, Bucky can’t even remember which letter they had started with, so he retraces the plastic letters on the board.

Y-E-A-R.

At least when he’s using the plastic letters, Steve doesn’t have to repeat the letters a million times. But it still takes way too long.

It feels like it’s taken him half an hour to understand the word ‘Y-E-A-R’. That’s pathetic.

But whatever.

He focuses back on what they’d been talking about.

What _had_ they been talking about? It takes so damn long to do the stupid spelling that Bucky’s forgotten.

What had Steve been talking about?

Steve had been saying something about numbers.

Oh, right: 1-9-4-3.

He mulls it over, then he gets it. Steve’s remembering the year 1943.

Bucky smiles sadly.

“You’re remembering the last time my hair looked decent, huh? Does this come close?”

Tap, tap, tap.

His annoyance about the letters disappears. Bucky reaches up and wipes the tears off Steve’s cheeks, then kisses both of them. “Shove over, darling. Cuddle time.”

Steve takes the board off his lap and Bucky lies down, pulling Steve with him.

Bucky wraps his arm around him and Steve snuggles into Bucky’s side.

It must be weird for Steve to see him with short hair again. It’s 2016 and 1943 at the same time.

Well—Bucky’s body is a definitely more banged up than it had been in 1943, but he’s glad Steve is overlooking those things.

Bucky takes Steve’s hand that’s fiddling with Bucky’s shirt collar. He taps himself on the chest, then rubs their hands over his heart and taps Steve on the head.

That seems to make Steve cry harder.

Shit. He thought he was being cute. He didn’t want to make Steve feel worse.

“Is this happy crying or sad crying, Stevie? I didn’t wanna make it worse.”

Steve taps himself on the forehead with their clasped hands, then smooths out Bucky’s hand to draw smiley faces on it.

Bucky grins. The stupid spelling didn’t succeed in ruining their day. Excellent.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will include links when introducing the accessible items Bucky uses. Although it’s not necessary to follow the links to understand the story, if you’d like to know what those items look like and learn more about them, you may find the linked material interesting. Please let me know if any of the links break!
> 
> A huge thank-you to Kawherp, who suggesting getting an Eone watch for Bucky!

Natasha picks up on the second ring. “How’s the Barnes-Rogers household doing?”

Steve smiles and leans against the counter, watching Bucky washing dishes. “We’re doing good.”

“No more shower curtain disasters?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “That only happened once. And I closed it before the bathroom flooded.”

“Did you tell him about it?”

“I didn’t wanna make him feel bad—I just told him to include that in the routine. Now he checks that it’s closed as soon as he gets in.”

Bucky carefully puts a plate into the dryer rack. Steve reaches out, ready to adjust the plate if it isn’t sitting right, but Bucky checks it himself.

“You letting him wash the knives yet?”

“Nope. That’s a line I ain’t willing to cross yet.”

She laughs. “You know, I’m so amused that your accent came back so fast. I used to forget you’re from Brooklyn, but now…”

Steve chuckles. “Now I ain’t leaving no doubt that I’m a born and bred local. I don’t need to sound like Cap no more. Plus, with this jerk here talking my ear off all day with his accent—I knew it was gonna come back.”

They fall into silence, Steve watching Bucky pick up the other plate from his pile and carefully put it into the sink.

“You know what, Rogers?”

“What?”

“I’m really impressed with you.”

Steve chuckles. “You mean you’re impressed with Buck.”

“Well, I am, obviously—but I’m impressed with you too.”

“Why?”

“I thought you’d have a much harder time letting go of your anger with the whole situation.”

Steve smiles. “You know what? I realized staying mad about the whole thing only hurts me and Buck. The government and SHIELD don’t care that I’m angry, but it would definitely affect Buck. And there’s no way I’m spending my time on something that hurts Buck, and distracts me from taking care of him. Like you keep telling me—this is our new reality and going backwards ain’t helping anybody. We gotta accept how things are and move forward, and the best way to do it is to leave all that anger in the past.”

“Like I said—I’m impressed with you. There are a lot of people who wouldn’t be able to put their own feelings aside in cases like this.”

He snorts. “When it comes to Buck, it’s not hard. Plus, I have a good friend who lets me complain about things when I need to rant.”

He knows she’s smiling.

“So you’re not mad at Barnes for the way he jumped the gun?”

That makes the smile disappear from his face.

Is he mad at Bucky for not waiting for Steve to come up with a better solution than sacrificing such a huge part of himself? That’s a complicated question.

“I—I’m not mad at Buck, I’m…sad about the whole situation. But I’m not mad.”

“I don’t know—I thought you’d be a bit offended that he doubted your ability to find a solution.”

Steve sighs. “I don’t think he did. That’s the thing—it’s complicated. Buck—Everyone always thinks I’m the only impulsive one when it comes to people I care about, but when things are real bad, Buck sometimes jumps before looking if he thinks it’ll help the situation. Not as often as I do, but he does. I remember when I was about 20 or 21 and I got real sick. It was one of those few times that Buck had to take me to the hospital because I was in such a bad way. The doctors weren’t too happy about me being there since I had a lot of overdue bills with them already. They basically demanded payment up front.”

“Is that even legal?”

Steve shrugs. “Probably not. But I wasn’t in a condition to be part of that conversation so I couldn’t argue with them, and Buck wasn’t gonna waste time going to the police—who might not even have listened to him anyway—when I was on death’s door. So he had to find the money somewhere.”

Steve hadn’t known about any of this until days later when his fever had broken and he’d woken up in the hospital.

As soon as Bucky showed up at the hospital, Steve convinced him he was healthy enough to leave the hospital. His stomach was in knots since he realized how many days he already spent at the hospital, raking up bills they didn’t have the money for.

It wasn’t until days later when Steve was strong enough to go to the hospital to inquire about his new—no doubt outrageous—bill. When the hospital told him it had been paid up front, he assumed they made a mistake…but he wasn’t about to ask any questions which might make them realize as much, so he’d quickly made his way to the door. Months passed and when he went to the hospital to make a payment on one of his other bills, one of the nurses warned him that the next time he came in sick, they’d follow the same procedure as last time. When Steve asked what she was talking about, she told him about Bucky paying the entire bill up front. Steve went home and puzzled over the situation for hours until Bucky came home. Nothing obvious was missing from their apartment, and when he did the math, he realized there was no way that Bucky could have made that money in that short time frame while doing any legitimate jobs.

So he confronted Barnes as soon as the jerk was in the door. Bucky hemmed and hawed for a while, handing Steve one ridiculous lie after another, until Steve lost his patience and threatened to walk all over town and ask every person he came across until he found his answer.

Finally Bucky admitted that he’d gone to that certain bar down by the river and he’d “put himself to good use”.

It took Steve a few seconds to understand what Bucky meant. Once he figured it out, he was livid, yelling at Bucky for making such a rash decision.

First Bucky tried to make light of the situation: giving him a lewd grin and telling him it was worth it, since he got extra practice _plus_ he picked up some new skills. Steve thought his face must have done a good job showing how completely unimpressed he was with those comments, because the lewd grin disappeared from Bucky’s face and he switched tactics.

To his surprise, Bucky hadn’t yelled. He reminded Steve that he hadn’t exactly been a hundred percent at the time. He’d been sleep deprived from taking care of Steve and picking up extra shifts, not to mention that he’d been scared out of his mind about Steve being so close to death’s door, so pardon him for not hesitating when his brain had come up with a solution.

It had been a drastic thing to do, sure, but ultimately he got the results he wanted.

Steve was mad for a few days, until he realized that he wasn’t really mad at Bucky. He was mad at the entire stupid situation.

And taking out his anger on Bucky wouldn’t change any of the things that had happened.

He watches Bucky carefully putting their forks into the sink.

Steve sighs, a soft smile on his lips. Bucky may be a stupid jerk at times, but he's Steve's stupid jerk.

And Steve knows his own faults aren't exactly easy to put up with either.

“I’m assuming he found the money?” Natasha’s voice brings him back to the present.

“Oh, yeah. He found the money.”

Natasha makes a curious noise. “What did he sell? I thought you guys barely had anything in that apartment of yours.”

Steve pauses before answering. “He…he sold something he…shouldn’t have sold. But he was desperate, he was scared and it was the first idea that came into his head. I was mad at him for a while until I realized I was more mad at the situation. What was done was done. Being mad at Buck wouldn’t change what he’d done.”

“Just like your current situation.”

“Yeah. I’m sad about him being put into such a situation, but I know he didn’t do it because he doubted my ability to help him. He just—he was in a desperate situation, he wasn’t thinking clearly, but what’s done is done. We gotta move forward.”

“That’s very mature of you.”

Steve chuckles. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

She laughs. “So—any progress solving the door problem?”

Steve groans and watches Bucky washing a mug. Steve had bought a [rubber mat](https://www.bedbathandbeyond.com/1/1/439128-interdesign-stari-small-sink-mat-clear.html)—which he’d found through a link that Sam had sent him—that Bucky puts into the sink, which prevents dishes from sliding around and makes it much easier for him to do the washing. Sam had been sending Steve links to websites which sell supplies for individuals who have mobility issues and along with the rubber mat for the sink, Sam had suggested buying rolls of [Dycem](https://www.dycem-ns.com/dycemshopus/product/non-slip-reel/). It’s a thin, non-slip matting that can be cut into any size, washed and reused. Anything that’s put on it will stay in place even when given firm nudges. Steve keeps their table and the kitchen counters covered in it, which helps Bucky while he’s washing dishes and also while he’s eating.

Bucky had a big smile on his face the first time he ate without the rolls of towels keeping his bowl in place. It was a small thing, but it brought a sense of normalcy back into Bucky’s meal times, which he’d desperately needed.

The Dycem and the rubber mat had also helped improve Bucky’s dish washing. With daily practice, Bucky can now wash all the dishes—except the knives—and put them in the rack by himself. He’s cut his time down from one hour to twenty minutes. He gets a ton of water and soap all over the counter, but he always wipes it down when he’s done.

Steve can’t believe how much progress Bucky’s made since he’d decided to become more independent. There are mistakes along the way, but luckily Bucky doesn’t often realize he’s made any. Steve tries not to point out the mistakes—he knows Buck would feel bad and get nervous during future attempts—but he tries to nudge Bucky to do things better next time

Water and soap can always be mopped up, but Bucky’s confidence is growing on a daily basis and Steve isn’t going to interfere with that.

They’re ticking off each of their initial problems one by one, but the stupid door situation is still leaving him at a loss. Regardless of how much progress Bucky is making, he still can’t get over his paranoia of not being able to hear the front door opening. He still has to get up at least once a night to check it. Steve has honestly thought about letting Bucky do the check himself, but he knows it would take Bucky ten times longer to get to the door, and he could get hurt along the way.

Besides—it’s not like Bucky likes having to check the door any more than Steve does.

“My google skills are failing me, Nat. I can only find door alarms that use lights or sound. I can tell you thirty websites that sell those things—but none of them would work for Buck.”

She chuckles. “You sure it’s a problem with _what_ you’re typing? Not a problem with what you’re typing _on_? Are you sure you don’t wanna switch to a typewriter and see how that works out?

Steve rolls his eyes. “You worked way too hard to fit that one in. You’re slipping, Romanov.”

“Whatever. Alright, I think it’s time for me to step in and assist, old man. Let me see what I can find.”

“Okay, thanks. How was newbie training?” Steve knows Natasha might grouse about it, but she enjoys teaching the new recruits.

“Nothing unusual. None of them are terrible, but none of them are great. Pretty much an average bunch. But they’re hard workers.”

“So you love them?”

“Absolutely.”

Bucky lifts a large pot into the sink and carefully pulls out the hand held faucet to wet it down. Steve knows what’s coming and manages to get up a hand to shield his face and phone from the ricocheting water just in time. Once the faucet has been returned to its home and Bucky’s scrubbing the pot, Steve feels safe enough to lower his hand. He shakes the water off his hand. “Has anybody bothered you about me going back to work?”

She chuckles. “Nope, not since last month. Everett’s not a stupid man. I’ll follow his orders, but when I tell him Captain Rogers is taking personal leave for an indefinite period of time, he knows not to push that. Don’t worry, I’ll let you know if he starts getting antsy. Things are quiet right now anyway.”

Steve feels a bit guilty. He hadn’t asked the question because he’s concerned that he’s letting his team down—he only asked because he doesn’t want Everett Ross giving Natasha a hard time because of him.

Honestly, SHIELD and the world’s problems haven’t been on his mind since he’d brought Bucky home.

To be more honest, SHIELD and the world’s problems haven’t been on his mind since he and Bucky had gone on the run.

He’s more than happy to let somebody else fight for the little guy at the moment. He has his hands full and he’s so damn tired anyway.

*             *             *

Two days later, he gets an email from Natasha with a link.

He follows the link and has to spend several minutes trying to understand the technical jargon on the page, but once he understands what the device does, he does a happy dance while sitting on the couch and places an order immediately, ignoring the nearly $300 price tag.

He’s thrilled when the intercom buzzes a few days later and he gets a delivery. He’d ordered a bunch of stuff, not just Natasha’s device.

Bucky’s getting a bit more comfortable moving around the apartment, but he’s still very scared to bump into things. He’s still shuffling, and he depends on Steve to steer him around. Steve thinks that being able to move around the apartment without depending on Steve will be a huge boost to Bucky’s confidence, but he has to remove the fear from the process.

So Steve has ordered him a [cane](https://ambutech.com/shop-online/canes).

It came in a [holster](https://ambutech.com/shop-online/mobility-cane-pouch), which can be clipped to a belt or the waistband of Bucky’s sweatpants. Steve thinks it’ll be more practical for Bucky to put the cane into the holster when he doesn’t need it, as opposed to leaning it against something and risk having it fall over, or forgetting where he’d put it.

He takes the cane out of its holster and carefully unfolds it. The different sections click into place, and he’s holding a long cane. It’s very light and covered in white paint. He digs through the packaging until he finds the [rolling ball tip](https://ambutech.com/shop-online/rolling-ball-hook-tip) that he’d ordered. He’d read that it might be helpful for people in the early stages of getting to know their environments. He attaches the ball and tries sweeping the cane side to side.

The ball rolls smoothly right along with the cane, back and forth across the floor, the movement quiet and smooth. It’s big enough that Bucky will hopefully feel when it bumps into something.

Next, he finds a smaller package and tears it open.

Steve knows it bothers Bucky that he never knows what time it is. He asks Steve, and Steve dutifully counts off the time on Bucky’s hand, but he knows it’s frustrating for Bucky. It’s another one of the many things that Bucky used to be able to do on his own without a thought, and Steve knows it annoys him that he can’t do it anymore.

He pulls out the Eone watch from its package and smiles happily. When he’d researched watches which deafblind individuals could use, he’d come across braille watches. They had raised lines to represent each number on the watch face, and a thick hour hand and thinner minute hand. He’d called Natasha and had her look at them, and they both agreed that the hands’ movements would probably be impacted by Bucky touching them too firmly. If touching them messed up the hands, then the time wouldn’t be accurate. But if he didn’t touch them firmly enough, he probably wouldn’t be able to tell what time it is.

So Natasha had done her own search, and within minutes, she told him to google ‘[Eone watch](https://www.eone-time.com/)’.

As soon as Steve had clicked on the link and seen the picture of the watch, he knew this was the winner.

Like the braille watches, most of the numbers are represented by lines. The 12 is a raised triangle—which allows somebody to orient the watch correctly no matter how they’re reading it—and the 3, 6 and 9 are thicker lines than the others. There is a small track that runs inside the number lines, and there’s another track around the outside edge of the watch. Both tracks contain a small ball bearing, which moves around the track as time passes. The inside ball represents the minute hand, and the outside is the hour hand.

It’s perfect. Steve had been torn over what color to get—until Natasha gently pointed out that it wouldn’t matter to Bucky. So Steve had ordered one with a soft leather strap that shouldn’t chafe.

Steve pulls on the little dial to adjust the hands and closes his eyes as he spins it.

He keeps his eyes closed, sets it to a random time, and runs his fingers over the watch face. He squeezes his eyes shut harder, avoiding the temptation of looking at the watch. He wants to make sure this is something that won’t be too frustrating for Bucky before he gives it to him.

He finds the triangle first. That’s twelve o’clock. Next he locates the long and short lines, creating a picture of the watch in his mind. He finds the outside ball with one finger and uses his other fingers to line it up with the raised lines. It’s at one of the long lines…that’s three. Yes, it’s at the three. He finds the inside ball. It’s close to the…ten? No, the line is just before the triangle…that makes it the eleven.

He pictures it in his mind—hour hand on three, minute hand on eleven.

Okay. So that would make it…five minutes before three o’clock. 2:55.

He opens his eyes and checks.

2:55. Excellent.

He leans over to check the time on the microwave and sets the proper time on the watch. The only downside is the lack of difference between AM and PM, but now that Bucky’s sleeping pattern is pretty much back on track, he should know whether it’s 2:55 in the afternoon or the morning.

Lastly, Steve turns to the big box.

Natasha’s device—the answer to their door checking problem.

[A wireless motion detector](https://www.silentcall.com/products/signature-series-vibra-call-3-body-worn-418-mhz-receiver-model-vc4003-ss).

Before Steve tears into the box, he takes a second to check on Bucky sitting out on the balcony.

Bucky’s sitting on the new patio swing that Steve had bought, surrounded by his pillows, with the fuzzy blanket around his shoulders. Steve had folded up a bunch of papers for him and Bucky entertains himself by doodling on the various folds.

Bucky never complains about being bored these days but Steve still makes a mental note to find more things for Bucky to do.

Steve does most of the household chores and researches deafblindness on the internet, but even if he weren’t busy with that, he could read a book or watch television. Bucky doesn’t have those options anymore.

He definitely has to deal with that—but Steve’s realized weeks ago that the list of things that they need to conquer is three miles long, and if he spends too much time thinking about that, he gets anxious and starts freaking out that he’s failing Bucky, and Bucky can always sense his anxiety and starts freaking out too—which leads to chaos because Steve can’t properly explain to him why he’s anxious.

They both stay calmer if they conquer a small batch of goals at a time. They have the next fifty years to figure this out—they don’t have to knock off all their goals in one week. Not only is that impossible, but it would lead to frustration and anxiety for both of them.

So—slower is better.

For now, Steve is putting the door-checking problem ahead of Bucky’s need for hobbies.

He focuses back on the motion detector.

He unpacks it and reads over the instructions. It’s simple enough to install one of the sensors on the front door, another on the balcony door and one on each window that can be opened.

Then he unpacks the receiver and turns it on. He sets it up according to the instructions, then goes to the front door. He opens it up and right away, the receiver lets out a high pitched whistle.

Steve makes a face. That won’t work.

He knows it has a vibration setting, he’d specifically—

Ah, there it is. He switches it to vibrate and opens the door again. The receiver gently vibrates in his hand.

Excellent. Bucky can adjust the vibration if he wants it to be stronger.

Steve checks the balcony door and each window, and everything works perfectly. He sets up a slightly different vibration for the front door, versus the balcony door and a third vibration type for the windows, but figures that’ll be sufficient. They can make changes if Bucky doesn’t like the vibration types.

Grinning, he picks up all of his stuff and is about to head to the balcony to show Bucky, but then he looks down at the mess by his feet.

He’s about to break one of their biggest rules: Never leave anything on the floor.

The last thing he needs is for Bucky to trip in this mess. So he gathers up all the empty boxes and wrapping material and stuffs it under the sink. They’ll go down to the garbage later.

Bucky’s fine not being by his side every second of the day anymore, but neither of them feel comfortable leaving Bucky alone in the apartment, so they shuffle down the hallway together to the garbage chute.

Having Bucky go down the long stairwell to the basement laundry is too dangerous at this point, so Steve’s been doing laundry in their apartment. Unlike in the 30s, their current apartment actually has a sink with running warm water. No more lugging buckets of water from the alley up to their apartment and waiting patiently for the water to heat on the stove! For Steve, he still gets such a joy out of the running hot water in their sink that he actually enjoys washing dishes and doing the laundry without the machines.

*             *             *

Bucky snuggles back into his nest of pillows on the bed and runs his hand over his new watch. He loves his new watch. He loves all the presents Steve gets him.

When Steve had first put the watch on his wrist, Bucky immediately realized it wouldn’t work the way Steve had intended. He could feel how happy Steve was about the situation so he kept his mouth shut at first.

But then he realized that Steve would notice really quickly if Bucky can’t use the watch, and that would make his present a waste. So Bucky gave Steve a big kiss, thanked him for the present, and gently pointed out that he can’t read the watch if it’s attached to his wrist—he’s one hand short.

So Steve had removed the strap from the watch and put it on a chain. It’s long enough that Bucky can hold it on the palm of his hand or a flat surface and read the time with his fingers. Within a few days, he gets good enough that he can read it while the watch is hanging on his chest.

He keeps it tucked under his shirt during the day so he can check the time whenever he wants. He thinks it’s a bit silly, but he really does feel a million times better about life now that he can tell what time it is.

At night, he hangs the chain from a nail in the wall above the bed.

He gently runs his fingers along the outside track. The ball is at ten. He traces the inside track. It’s at six. So it’s 10:30 in the evening. He entertains himself by lightly keeping his finger on the minute ball and feeling it slowly move forward while he waits for Steve to get into bed.

The bed eventually dips.

“Hey, Rogers,” he says, grinning.

Steve reaches over and taps his hand.

“Guess what time it is?”

He feels Steve roll over and then he’s got Steve Rogers lying on his chest, chin propped on his sternum. Steve draws a question mark into his hand.

“It’s 10:30. No, actually, it’s about 10:32.”

He feels Steve’s jaw moving. Steve’s saying something.

Bucky releases the watch and reaches down to run his fingers through Steve’s hair. “Hey, Rogers? You wanna get up here and kiss me?”

He feels Steve shift upwards and kisses are pressed along his neck and up his face. Bucky lets his eyes drift closed when he meets Steve’s lips for a kiss.

He shifts to sling a leg over Steve’s ass, pressing him down. He tightens his grip in Steve’s hair, keeping him close. He opens his mouth wider and licks into Steve’s mouth.

He feels Steve let out a gasp of air against his lips and Steve’s tongue tangles with his own.

It’s definitely been way too long.

He nibbles Steve’s lip and sucks his tongue into his mouth. He lifts his hips, pressing his groin to Steve’s. They’re both wearing only thin boxer shorts and Steve’s cock is stiff and warm in his shorts. Bucky can feel his own arousal tingling along his spine and his cock is rapidly filling.

He pulls back. “Shorts off.”

He feels Steve pull back. His hand drops from Steve’s hair.

Steve’s thumb is pressing against his fingers, then a question mark is drawn on his palm.

Okay?

He smiles. “I’m fine. I’m completely, 100 percent fine.”

He really is. He’s surrounded on all sides by safety and warmth, and he’s got the slim motion detector receiver strapped to his upper arm. Even in the midst of being distracted, he’ll feel if any window or outside door is opened.

It’s been two nights since he and Steve have done any door checking and he’s feeling pretty good about himself. Tonight’s the first time that his body’s expressed a decent interest in sex since he’s come home. That’s another huge positive sign.

“I promise, Stevie. I feel really, really good. Are you okay? If you ain’t in the mood, you gotta tell me.”

In response, he feels Steve pull back, then his shorts are yanked off.

He laughs. “I guess that answers that, huh?”

Steve rubs his nose against Bucky’s and kisses down his neck, moving slowly and not putting too much distance between each kiss. Bucky knows exactly where he is and what he’s doing and he can just focus on how good it feels as opposed to worrying about where Steve is.

Steve kisses his chest and moves to his right shoulder, then crosses back over his chest to his left shoulder.

When Steve presses a kiss to a patch of sensitive skin just below his collar bone, Bucky abruptly remembers.

“Steve, don’t.”

He feels Steve freeze, his breath gusting over Bucky’s left shoulder.

Or rather, what’s left of his shoulder.

When they’d removed his left arm, they’d also removed the entire anchor mechanism, which had acted as his left shoulder joint. Now the entire area where the joint mechanism had anchored the arm to the rest of his shoulder is covered in horrific scar tissue that winds all the way across to his collarbone. The scarring runs down his left side where they’d removed the anchors from his ribs, and there’s some scarring running down his back too. He hadn’t had a mirror in prison but he’s touched the areas enough to know they must look awful. He avoids touching any of the scarred areas as much as possible—spending just enough time cleaning to avoid complications, but nothing more.

He knows Steve’s seen the scarring up close. Bucky knows Steve had washed the areas when he’d helped Bucky bathe, and he still has to help Bucky pull on shirts everyday—but Bucky’s always been focused on other things during those times.

Now…he knows that Steve can see the ugliness and it makes him want to put a shirt on. But that’s ridiculous—he sternly reminds himself that Steve sees it all the time.

Okay, so maybe he can’t prevent Steve from seeing the ugliness, but he can certainly stop Steve from touching any of it.

“Steve—don’t touch that stuff. It’s disgusting.”

Steve picks up Bucky’s hand. They tap on Steve’s chest. They rub over Steve’s heart. Then they tap in the middle of Bucky’s chest.

Bucky makes a face. “I know that. That has nothing to do with the fact that my left side is trash. It looks like somebody threw me into a meat grinder.”

Steve releases his hand long enough to press a finger against Bucky’s lips. Then he picks up Bucky’s hand again.

Steve’s chest.

Steve’s heart.

Bucky’s chest.

Again:

Steve’s chest.

Steve’s heart.

Bucky’s chest.

Steve does each step firmer, pushing harder as if to emphasize his point.

Bucky clenches his jaw. “Are we both blind here? I know how bad it looks, Rogers. I’m not a kid. You pretending that it don’t look bad is dumb.”

Steve doesn’t respond.

Bucky sighs. “Look, we were having a great time, and it’s been a long time since I’ve been in the mood for sex. Can we please go back to what we were doing, but can you not touch any of…that stuff? Please?”

Steve is silent for a while, until he taps Bucky’s hand twice.

Eventually Steve goes back to kissing him, working down his throat and drifting over his chest to the right shoulder and down his arm.

When Steve moves back to his chest, he stays clear of the left side and instead moves up his neck and finds Bucky’s lips, licking Bucky’s lips apart.

Bucky sighs happily and relaxes, letting his tongue tangle with Steve’s. This is what he’s been waiting for.

They spend a long time kissing, Steve deepening the kiss and pressing Bucky into his pillow.

Bucky soon forgets all about his disgusting left side.

*             *             *

To his surprise, having sex is one of the few activities that doesn’t feel very different from the way it was before.

For years they had sex in secret, under the cover of darkness and silence. In a way, it’s exactly the same now as it was back then.

Back then, they’d extinguished every light source nearby and kept as quiet as possible, muffling sounds behind hands or into pillows. They’d had to rely on their other senses to keep track of how things were going.

Bucky noses his way from Steve’s face to his left ear and presses kisses right behind it. He waits for it, then feels the full body shiver that runs through Steve. He smiles to himself, satisfied. Some things never change. He wedges a hand between them, where Steve’s sliding his cock against Bucky’s. Bucky wraps his hand around Steve and pulls long and slow, tightening his hand right below the head. Steve’s forehead falls against Bucky’s, his breath warm and choppy against Bucky’s cheek. Bucky keeps stroking him until he feels Steve body tense and his head drops onto Bucky’s chest. That’s his cue to stroke faster, focusing on the spot right under the head. Steve’s entire body tenses and he’s coming, Bucky’s hand covered in warm, stickiness.

Bucky smiles, pleased with himself. He lifts his hand and sucks two fingers clean. “Damn, I missed you, Rogers,” he mutters.

He’s a bit startled when he feels a sudden air movement close to his face and then he’s got lips pressed to his own. His heart skips a few beats, but of course, it’s just Steve. They kiss for a while, Bucky letting his heart rate calm.

“A little warning next time, huh?”

He feels Steve freeze. “Hey, no, no, no. Don’t start feeling bad. It was a tiny mistake and I’m fine.”

Steve’s still not moving.

Bucky brings up a foot and jabs him in the side with it. “I’m sure you can think of a way to make it up to me, Rogers.”

A hand is pressed to Bucky’s chest and he feels kisses right over his heart. The hand slowly moves downwards and kisses follow. The hand moves all the way down to where his cock is waiting, hard and leaking. Steve strokes him a few times, then swallows him down, enveloping him in tight, wet heat. Oh, he’s missed this.

“Jesus, Stevie,” he manages to breathe out.

Steve’s hand runs up Bucky’s chest and down his arm until he finds Bucky’s hand. They tangle their fingers together.

Steve knows exactly how to make it last, how to wind him up and back down. He knows without hearing it that ridiculous things are coming out of his own mouth.

From time to time, Steve switches to shallow, tight sucks just around the head and he uses the time to draw little question marks on Bucky’s hand.

Bucky always gasps out some variation of being fine.

When he comes, Steve sucks him through it, then he’s kissing his way right back up Bucky’s chest to his lips. Bucky licks the familiar taste of himself out of Steve’s mouth.

He shifts his leg, amused when he nudges Steve’s still hard cock.

“You ready to go again, Rogers?”

He feels Steve smile against his lips.

“How about you give me a few minutes while you go get some slick, huh? While you’re doing that, you can come up with a plan on how many times you’re gonna make me come again while your dick’s in my ass, okay?”

He feels the bed bounce as Steve vaults off it to get the lube.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’ve seen Bucky using his watch and the motion detector. Time to see how he does with his other new toys! Plus, now that the door problems is taken care of, it’s time for Steve to find Bucky some activities that are more stimulating than doodling on bits of paper.

Four steps…three steps…two steps….one step…and there—

He can feel the ball on the tip of his cane bump into the bathroom counter. He grins. Exactly eight steps from the bed until his cane hits the counter.

He shuffles up to the counter and turns around to face the open bathroom door. He pushes the cane forward and side to side, making sure there are no obstructions in the doorway.

It’s clear.

He takes two confident steps, then raises his hand and feels the doorframe, like he knew he would.

He takes another step forward and pivots to his left. Now it’ll be six steps until he’s beside the table.

He starts moving, sweeping the cane in front of him, the ball rolling side to side. He feels the cane bump off the wall on one side and nothing on the other—until he’s taken six steps, then he feels the cane hit the edge of what he knows is the table.

Grinning, he steps closer to it and touches the top of the table with a finger, double checking.

Yes, definitely the table.

Excellent.

“Rogers, I think I’m getting this.”

He feels Steve’s hands appear on his hips, squeezing gently. A kiss is pressed to his neck. He can feel Steve smiling against his neck.

He knows Steve has been following right behind him, not touching him, but ready to intervene if Bucky’s about to take a nose dive over something.

Thankfully, they don’t have much furniture and Steve keeps the floor as clean as possible, so moving around the apartment is getting pretty easy.

The mental layout of the apartment is crystal clear in his head now, with every doorway, wall and piece of furniture mapped out.

He’d practiced bumping the ball against various pieces of furniture, learning the difference between the softness of the couch versus the hard resistance of a wall. The cane has a convenient strap, so he doesn’t have to worry about dropping his cane if he wants to explore something with his hand.

They have breakfast and bring their dishes into the kitchen. Steve makes him a cup of coffee while Bucky starts the dishes. He grabs the rubber mat that’s hanging on the wall by the sink and places it into the sink. The water’s turned on and he picks up the [sponge wand](https://www.amazon.com/Scotch-Brite-Dispensing-Dishwand-Heavy/dp/B00027ZNDK). Steve got it for him a few days ago—the handle can be filled with dish soap so he doesn’t have to worry about getting dish soap all over the counter. He knows he’s gotten it down to twenty minutes, but he’s hoping to get it down to fifteen minutes at least. It bothers him enough that Steve still insists on doing the knives himself, and Steve has to refill the sponge wand for him.

When the dishes are done and the counter is wiped dry, Bucky dries his hand on the kitchen towel, pulls his cane out of his thigh holster, unfolds it, wraps the strap around his wrist and makes his way out onto the balcony, knowing Steve is following behind him with his coffee.

A few hours later, he’s sitting out on the balcony, working on one of his art projects. Steve had bought these weird [waxy string things](https://www.wikkistix.com/what-are-wikki-stix/) that stick pretty well to paper but can be pulled off and re-used. Steve draws Bucky whatever design he wants, then Steve sticks the waxy sticks onto each line, creating raised lines that Bucky can easily trace with a finger. He can color in between the raised lines and remove the waxy lines when he’s finished and re-use them on his next project.

Steve’s gotten him a whole arts and crafts kit which contains everything he could possibly want for his projects. Colored pencils, felts, crayons, paints, glue, scissors and paintbrushes all have their own little spots in the kit.

Dealing with the different colors is a headache. At first, Steve had sat down with the art kit and put the metallic board on Bucky’s lap. Steve had patiently spelled out ‘green’ in code and in plastic letters, but it took about five minutes. By the time Steve had finished telling him that the next color is ‘light green’, Bucky was about to fall over from exhaustion and panic. He knows it would take them about five years to get through all the colors, and Bucky wouldn’t remember where they are anyway.

He’s getting a bit better at understanding words spelled in code, and keeping track of letters on the board allows Steve to spell longer words, but overall it still takes forever and he still gets anxious about the whole process. He tries to avoid situations where Steve has to spell things.

In this case, that means not going through the colored pencils.

He’d reasoned with Steve that he can’t see the colors anyway, so it doesn’t bother him.

That’s only partly true.

When it comes to the clothes he puts on every day he really doesn’t care what color they are, but where his art is concerned—

It actually does bother him. When he’s doing his art projects, he likes being able to imagine what the thing he’s creating looks like, and it really does annoy him that he doesn’t know what color anything is.

So he switches between colors randomly, but imagines everything is different shades of grey.

That’s the only way he doesn’t get annoyed enough about the situation to let Steve in on the problem.

Steve spends most of his days on the computer, finding Bucky things that will help him or entertain him. Bucky’s not going to bother him about every tiny thing.

He likes doing textured projects much better. He has no trouble seeing textured materials.

Steve had shown him how to paint glue over parts of his drawing and press different textured items to the surface, making them stick.

Bucky likes that much better than the colors.

He can feel the results of his work and he knows exactly how good—or bad—it looks.

Bucky uses rice, different spices, cotton swabs, toothpaste, crumpled aluminum foil and anything else he can find around the apartment for his materials. Steve always saves the bubble wrap and soft wrapping sheets and some bits of cardboard from the deliveries they get. Everything is neatly organized in little boxes and jars that live in a large box. Each box or jar has a sample of its contents glued to the side so Bucky can easily tell what’s where.

It’s pretty great.

Steve hangs his projects around the apartment, and Bucky can actually use the scent of the project to determine where he is in the apartment, not to mention it gives the entire apartment more of a personality—in Bucky’s view at least.

He hopes his art doesn’t look too awful—he knows Steve would never admit to not liking them, but for Steve’s sake, he hopes he’s not making the apartment look like a two year old child threw up on the walls. According to what he can feel, he thinks he does a pretty good job on his projects.

He’s got nothing but time these days, so he’s very careful about staying within the raised lines and he spends time planning out his projects, deciding what he’ll put where before he starts.

Besides, he likes to remind Steve that he’s just following the lines that Steve had drawn, so he likes to joke that Steve is to blame if they’re awful.

He runs his hand along the little jars that are in his storage box and pulls out the third jar. He can feel rough flakes glued to the side of it so he knows he’s grabbed one of the spice jars. He unscrews the lid and takes out a small pinch. It’s the third jar from the right so it should be the oregano. He can already tell by the rough little flakes that it’s oregano or basil. He rubs it between his fingers and smells it. Yup, oregano.

A small triangular section of his drawing is filled with the oregano. He gently presses down on the flakes and feels around the triangle to ensure he’s covered it adequately. Satisfied, he screws the lid back on and reaches for the paintbrush waiting in the glue pot. The circular area surrounding the triangle oregano is filled with glue and Bucky reaches into the large open box in his kit and takes out a small amount of rice. He carefully presses each grain into the glued area, nudging them close together.

He startles a bit when he suddenly feels a hand touch his elbow.

While the rational part of his brain knows it’s Steve, that small, panicky, fearful corner of his mind refuses to listen to reason.

He forces himself to calm down. It’s Steve. He _knows_ it’s Steve. If it were some stranger who wanted to hurt him, they wouldn’t be patiently waiting for him to acknowledge them.

“Hi, Stevie.”

He feels the porch swing sway gently as somebody settles next to him. A gentle squeeze on his elbow.

Of course it’s Steve, but…

But if Steve were wearing something on his wrist that Bucky could easily touch…something distinct…then Bucky would know for sure.

He carefully puts his project on the table and reaches for his box with his containers in it. He brings it to his lap and slowly sifts through the boxes, thinking.

Most of the items aren’t practical, but when he gets to the little bag containing a bundle of plastic ties, he gets an idea.

“Hey, punk, you wanna do me a favor?”

His hand is tapped several times.

“I—This might sound silly, but whenever you come up to me, it annoys me that I don’t know it’s you. I mean—I know it’s you—it’s gotta be you—but…it just annoys me that I don’t know for sure, you know?”

Bucky knows that Steve’s knows when he says it ‘annoys’ him, he really means it scares him.

Steve gently squeezes his hand and taps on it.

“I was thinking you can make a bracelet out of these plastic things. Or you can use something else, but it would be really great if you had something on your wrist that I could touch and know it’s you and nobody else.”

Steve immediately taps on his hand and takes the box off his lap.

Nothing happens for a while. Steve is shifting around from time to time and Bucky waits patiently.

Finally, Bucky’s hand is picked up and placed on Steve’s wrist. He can feel the thin little strips of plastic under his hand. He explores it with his fingers. Steve had twisted together a bunch of the plastic ties, squeezing them together so the sharp ends don’t poke him. The plastic ties circle one wrist—and when Steve switches his hands, Bucky feels that he’s put another twist tie bracelet on his other wrist.

Bucky smiles, pleased. He finds Steve’s chest, then his face, lifts his chin and kisses him. “Thank you.”

Bucky feels Steve’s hands on his face and Steve’s nose brushes against his. He feels Steve’s lips moving against his.

You’re welcome, Buck.

“If the plastic things ain’t comfortable, you can change it to something else. As long as I know what you’re wearing, it makes me feel less…annoyed.”

Steve kisses him and releases his face. Bucky feels the swing sway as Steve leans back, getting comfortable.

Now that they’ve sorted out this situation, Bucky can focus on his art again. He reaches for his project and pulls the clipboard and his drawing back on his lap. “You like my project?”

Tap, tap, tap.

“I’m making this one for you, so don’t worry, I ain’t gonna put any dill on it so we can put it in the bedroom and you won’t die in the middle of the night from the smell.”

Another squeeze on his elbow.

“You’re welcome, punk.”

He finishes applying the rice, then reaches into the cup holder attached to the swing for his coffee. He takes a sip and makes a face. Lukewarm.

That’s what happens when he gets too focused on his art projects.

He’s turning into Rogers.

“Hey Steve? Can you re-heat my coffee, please?”

He feels the swing sway and the cup is taken from his grasp.

Then he pauses. “Hey, Rogers? Stop a second. You’re just gonna re-heat it in the microwave, right?” He knows what the microwave is. Steve had shown him how to use it in one of the motels they’d stayed in while on the run.

A tap on the back of his hand.

“Can I learn how to do that? Please? I know you don’t like me cooking, but using the microwave isn’t dangerous cooking.”

There’s no response. “Come on, please? I’ll only use it if you’re in the room with me, I promise.”

Finally, there’s the reluctant tap on the back of his hand that he’d been waiting for. Then he feels Steve rubbing his hand between both of his.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ll wash my hands before touching it, ma, I promise” he grumbles. They’d come up with the handwashing symbol when he’d started doing his art projects.

He carefully puts his drawing on the table and gets to his feet, pulls his cane out of the holster, unfolds it and heads inside to the bathroom.

He washes his hand and heads into the kitchen.

Steve’s waiting for him. Bucky goes to grab the cup, but feels it being moved away from him. Instead, Bucky’s hand is lifted up to what he can feel is the microwave.

He hadn’t been paying very close attention to Steve’s explanation in the motel, so he actually doesn’t know how to use it, but he figures it can’t be too hard.

Steve guides his hand over the surface and sides of the machine, letting him feel how big the whole thing is. It’s sitting on a little shelf above the counter. Most of the front is taken up by a smooth cover and there’s a section covered in small raised surfaces, with a large rectangular shape on the bottom. A few of the raised surfaces have familiar small domed dots on them.

Steve had purchased sheets of [adhesive plastic domed dots](https://www.maxiaids.com/bump-dots-clear-mini-rounded-top-round-bump-dots) that they can stick on various objects that allow Bucky to identify items. They’d stuck the dots on the hangars that have Bucky’s clothes and use them to label cans of different varieties of soda in the icebox to separate the kind that Bucky likes versus Steve’s cans of coke.

Steve must have put dots on specific buttons on the microwave.

Steve presses Bucky’s fingers to the rectangular shape. He presses it and feels the machine shake a bit. Steve guides his hand back to where the large smooth surface had been. It’s no longer there.

He frowns when he feels his hand being guided inside the machine, then they trace the door.

Ah, the rectangle opens the door. Bucky’s hand is brought down to his coffee mug and they put it into the machine. The door is closed.

Bucky’s fingers are guided to the buttons with dots on them. Steve draws a number sign on the back of Bucky’s hand and squeezes his thumb. He presses his finger to the first dotted button. He presses Bucky’s thumb and index finger, then presses his finger to the second button.

Ah. The first button is one. The next button is two. The third button is preceded by Steve squeezing his thumb, index and middle fingers. That’s three. They go through nine different buttons, then all of Bucky’s fingers are folded in, paused, then he finds himself tracing the dot on the tenth button.

“Numbers 1 through 9, and 0?”

Tap.

“So I type in how long I want the thing to bake?”

Tap.

“How long should the coffee be in there?” He has no idea how long a microwave takes. It could be ten seconds or an hour.

Steve does the number symbol on his palm and counts out three numbers using his fingers:

1.

1…2…3.

His fingers are folded into a closed fist.

1-3-0.

“One hour and thirty minutes?”

A rub on the back of his hand.

1-3-0.

“Okay, how about one minute and thirty seconds?”

Tap, tap, tap.

He moves his hand to trace the dotted buttons. He stops at the first one and presses it. He moves to the third, and then down to the zero.

Then his fingers are guided to a button below the zero. It’s got two dots on it.

“What’s this one?”

He feels Steve hesitate. Oh, God. That usually means he has to spell something out.

Damn it, things were going so well! Now he’s going to wreck it by needing half an hour to understand a simple word.

Bucky feels his hand being turned over and his palm being smoothed out. He feels Steve hesitate. Bucky knows he’s debating whether to go get the metallic board or not.

Not only will it take Bucky forever to understand the word, but now Steve will have to go get the board and letters—turning this small thing into a huge, inconvenient mess.

Bucky decides not to be pathetic. He can do this without the stupid board.

“Is it just one word?”

Tap.

“Okay, I can do it. I don’t need the board.” He hopes.

Di, di, dit.

“S.”

Dah.

“That’s it? Just dah?”

Tap.

“Okay, that’s T.”

Di, dah.

“Uh, E? No, no, that’s dit. Sorry, that’s an A.”

Steve is about to continue, but Bucky’s brain is busy panicking that he won’t be able to do this. As usual, his brain is busy doing that instead of actually focusing on remembering the stupid letters. “Wait, wait. Let’s review. We had an S, E and A, right? S-E-A?”

Rub.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Three letters in and he’s already failing. “Okay, the first was S?”

Tap.

“What was the second?”

Dah.

“Oh, right. Sorry. That’s a T. So we had S and T. What was the third?”

Di, dah.

“A. Okay, so S, T and A. S-T-A. Is that right?”

Tap.

“Okay, keep going.”

Di, dah, dit.

“R.”

Dah.

“T again.”

Steve’s fingers stop moving.

“Alright, we had S-T-A…and then we had R-T. That’s S-T-A-R-T. That’s start. Start?”

Tap, tap, tap. A kiss on his palm.

Jesus. Five minutes of time to figure out that the stupid button is the start button. He’s glad Steve’s happy about it, but he’s not.

He presses the button and feels the machine vibrating gently. He keeps a hand on the machine so he can feel it working.

They wait. Bucky uses the time to push his annoyance behind him. He hates that he’s so terrible at remembering the letters as they spell them. It takes so long to convey each letter that he starts freaking out half-way through that he won’t know what it is…and by the time he knows what it is, his mind is too focused on his anxiety to remember the other letters.

It’s stupid, but no matter how much they practice, Bucky isn’t getting much better.

Whatever. He learned how to use the microwave today, that’s a huge win.

When the vibration stops, Bucky opens the door and reaches inside. He’s about to grab the mug, but Steve yanks his hand back. Then he slowly moves Bucky’s hand to the mug, making him touch the surface of the mug with his fingertips as opposed to grabbing it.

“You worrier, you,” Bucky mutters, smiling fondly.

He brushes his fingers over the mug surface. “It’s fine.”

He takes it out and lifts the mug to his nose, the smell and heat of the coffee drifting up his nose. It’s nice and warm.

He shuts the door.

“How did I do?”

He feels Steve wrap his arms around his waist. Smiling, Bucky puts the mug on the counter and turns around, running his hand up Steve’s back and tilting his head to press their foreheads together.

“Thank you for showing me to how to use the microwave,” he says. He can feel Steve’s nose right by his, so it’s easy to aim a kiss right on his lips without having to feel for them. “I love you, you know that, right?”

He feels Steve’s lips curl into a smile. Then Steve steps back slightly, takes Bucky’s hand and presses it to Steve’s chest, rubs over Steve’s heart firmly and then gently presses into Bucky’s own chest.

“I know, punk.”

*             *             *

The plastic ties do end up being too uncomfortable for Steve to wear continuously. Bucky doesn’t want this being an annoyance for Steve so he wants him to find something he can comfortably wear all the time without having to think about it.

“But I want it to be something that lets me know it’s you. Not any old bracelet that other people could have.”

Steve buys himself some plain leather bracelets which are soft and comfortable to wear. When Bucky feels them, he makes a face. He’s not terribly pleased with them. There are two large beads embedded in the leather, but neither the beads nor the leather strap are unique at all. Anybody could be wearing these things.

When he opens his mouth, he feels a finger pressed to his lips.

Steve disappears. He stays gone for about an hour and when he’s back, he grabs Bucky’s hand and runs his fingers carefully along the leather strap.

The leather is no longer smooth. Steve has carved notches into the portion of the leather strap that’s between the two beads. Some notches are small, some are large. The size differences seem to be random.

“Oh, that’s better. The cuts are nice and random. Definitely unique.” He gives Steve a smile.

He feels Steve vigorously rubbing his hand.

Okay.

Steve disappears, and moments later Bucky feels the metallic board being slid on his lap. There’s already letters on the board.

Bucky runs his fingers over the letters.

S-T-E-V-E.

“Congratulations, Rogers. You can spell your own name. Good for you,” he laughs and rolls his eyes.

Steve grabs his hand and gives it a shake. That means ‘pay attention’.

Bucky’s still struggling to stop laughing. Steve takes Bucky’s hand and smooths it out.

That makes the laughter stop.

Great. Spelling time.

Immediately, that stupid panic floods him—he won’t be able to keep up, he won’t remember the letters, he won’t understand—

He knows it’s dumb. He knows he’s got the letters right there on his lap, he knows Steve will be spelling ‘S-T-E-V-E’ (for reasons unknown). There’s nothing to panic over.

But telling his brain to not panic doesn’t make it actually stop panicking.

He’s sure he’d be getting better at understand code spelling by now if his stupid panic didn’t overwhelm his brain. He’s told Steve about it and Steve does his best to use the board instead of spelling things on his hand, but Bucky hates that he’s admitting defeat.

Using the stupid board is time consuming and makes the whole thing much more inconvenient for Steve. Bucky desperately wants their communication to be easier for Steve…but the harder he tries to understand the code spelling without the board, the worse he seems to get. He knows it’s because he’s focusing too much on his panic and his desire to do a good job…rather than actually focusing on the letters themselves, but he can’t seem to get the hang of it.

It frustrates him beyond belief.

Anyway. Right now, he needs to focus.

He already knows Steve will be doing three taps on his palm to start spelling.

Di, di, dit.

That’s the S. “That’s S. Steve, why are you—”

Steve takes his hand, folds down all of his fingers except his index fingers. Bucky can feel his finger tip being pressed to the leather bracelet, right next to one of the large beads.

Steve’s rubbing his finger tip across a small portion of the bracelet.

Specifically, he’s rubbing his finger over three cuts…which seem to feel like circular gouges.

Wait.

Wait a second! “Is that—is that an S? On the bracelet? Is that an S in code?”

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.

Immediately, Steve folds his hand out again. Bucky knows what’s coming. T.

Dah.

His finger is brought to the bracelet again. He can feel a deep cut in the leather, next to the three circular gouges. The cut is definitely longer than the circles.

Oh, my God, Rogers is brilliant!

“You spelled your name on the bracelet in Morse code?!”

Tap, tap, tap.

Bucky grins and holds out his hand. “Let me feel the whole thing!”

He flattens the bracelet on his thigh and carefully runs his finger along the leather band. The cuts are no longer random gouges in the leather—they’re carefully placed hollow circles and deep rectangular lines, running between the two large beads.

He starts at the first large bead.

Di, di, dit.

Dah.

Dit.

Di, di, di, dah.

Dit.

Then he feels the other large bead.

A warm glow settles in his stomach. “They’re perfect. Absolutely perfect. Put it on, punk.”

He holds up the leather bracelet and Steve takes it from him. A few minutes later, Steve picks up his hand and Bucky runs his hand up to Steve’s wrist. The leather band is secured around his wrist. Bucky can feel the circles and notches in the leather. He doesn’t have to feel the letters themselves—he knows that nobody else would ever know what the cuts symbolize, and nobody else could possibly have the exact same bracelet.

Steve takes his hand and switches to his other arm. He’s got an identical bracelet on that one so Bucky can tell it’s him no matter which arm Steve touches him with.

Bucky releases Steve’s wrist, runs his hand up to Steve’s chest and grabs his shirt to pull him closer. He ends up with his nose buried in Steve’s neck. He presses a firm kiss into his neck. “You’re amazing, Stevie. You better know that. Amazing.”


	10. Chapter 10

It’s one of those really bad days right from the start.

Bucky isn’t paying enough attention so he slams his shin into the edge of the tub when he’s getting out. He puts his arm into the head hole of his shirt so he ends up confused and struggling with it for several minutes until Steve rescues him. He forgets to put the cane’s strap on his wrist and he accidentally drops the cane on his way into the kitchen. When he bends down and feels around the floor for it, he gets disoriented and ends up smacking his head into the icebox. Usually he’s a huge fan of having an icebox—it’s something he would have sold a kidney for back in the day—but today it’s just another annoyance.

He feels like it’s gonna be a miracle if he survives today. He’s already grumpy and in a bad mood when he sits down for breakfast.

He reaches over for the salt. It’s always the little container that’s sitting closest to Bucky. He shakes a generous amount onto his eggs then digs in.

Moments later, his mouth erupts like it’s on fire and his nose starts burning. He gags and spits out the mouthful of eggs.

That.

Was _not_ salt.

God _damn_ it!

He’s choking and coughing, trying to get the excess amount of pepper out of his mouth.

He feels his hand being wrapped around a glass, and he chugs down the water. He’s handed another glass and he empties that one too.

He feels a concerned hand on his back.

Once he can breathe, he reaches around the table, trying to determine if he’d messed up.

He grabs the first container and brings it to his nose.

That’s definitely pepper.

But the container closest to Bucky needs to be the salt.

It’s _always_ the salt.

That’s how Bucky needs it to be.

The container closest to Bucky. Is. The. Salt.

Period.

Oh, this day is great.

“Jesus, Rogers, why’d you move the stupid salt? You know it’s gotta be on my side! Christ!”

He feels Steve’s hand on his arm, going for his hand so he can no doubt start spelling out a long and stupid explanation that Bucky won’t be able to piece together without needing the stupid board.

Bucky rips his arm out of Steve’s grasp and pushes his chair back. He pulls his cane out of the holster, unfolds it and heads to the balcony.

He feels Steve make another grab for his hand, but he curls his hand around his cane and continues moving forward. “Don’t touch me! I’m going outside. I wanna be alone.”

He reaches the balcony door, unlocks it and yanks it open, feeling the vibration on his bicep from the motion sensor being triggered. He steps through and pulls the door shut behind him. The receiver vibrates again. He’s put a literal wall up between himself and Steve.

He’d left his art kit inside, but he’s in no mood to work on his projects anyway. He just sits on the porch swing and sways back and forth.

His bad mood slowly evaporates.

He knows Steve’s probably very sorry about moving the salt.

Also, it’s not Steve’s fault that today is a terrible day.

He pulls his watch out and checks the time. Based on their routine, he’s been sulking out here for about half an hour.

He realizes he’s more annoyed at himself than Steve.

He’s been getting more and more comfortable with everything and he’s been getting sloppy and not paying as close attention as he should be.

He’s coming to the realization that not paying attention is no longer a luxury he can afford. Every task, every minute of every day needs to be done carefully with full focus.

Damn, he misses his eyesight. And his ears.

There’s a very tentative touch on his hand. The sudden contact startles him, but he no longer lets the panic take hold—he’s got a procedure to follow if any strange hands touch him.

He immediately runs his fingers over the strange hand, going up to its wrist, where he feels the leather bracelet. He finds the first bead and runs his fingers over the notches—

Di, di, dit.

Dah….

Steve. Definitely Steve.

He sighs. “Hi, Stevie. I’m sorry I yelled. Do you wanna sit down?”

The swing doesn’t sway. Instead, he feels Steve’s hands on his knees. He can feel Steve leaning against his legs. He’s kneeling down in front of Bucky.

“What are you doing?”

His hand is lifted and kisses are pressed on the back of his hand and into his palm. Steve’s lips are moving against his palm.

Steve’s probably apologizing for the salt thing.

“It’s okay. I know you just forgot. I should have stopped to smell it before pouring half of it on my eggs. Let’s share the blame, okay?”

Another kiss on his hand and a gentle squeeze. “I forgive you. Come sit with me.”

Bucky turns himself sideways so he’s lying on the swing, snuggled in the nest of pillows. The swing shifts and Steve’s sitting between his legs. Bucky pulls him down so Steve’s lying against his chest, Bucky’s chin resting on his head.

He wraps his arm around Steve’s chest, his palm right over his heart so he can feel it beating.

“So not to be whiny, but I didn’t really finish breakfast. Once we’re done cuddling, do you mind making me more eggs?”

A tap on his hand.

Bucky presses a kiss onto Steve’s head. “Thank you.”

Eventually they go back inside and Steve makes him more eggs. Bucky eats his belated breakfast and heads back outside when he’s done.

He’s in a slightly better mood, but still doesn’t feel like doing any art, so he’s just relaxing on the swing. It’s started to rain a bit and he’s enjoying the smell of the rain slowly rising around him.

A touch on his hand, a sway in the swing. He touches the wrist.

Leather bracelet. Bead. Di, di, dit. Dah. Dit…

“Hi,” he says.

Steve settles beside him. Bucky feels a poke against his own chest, then Steve does the munching symbol on the side of his hand, followed by a question mark on his palm.

Bucky frowns. “I ain’t hungry yet, punk. I just had my eggs.”

Rub, rub, rub.

His bad mood is rapidly flooding back.

“That ain’t wrong. I _know_ that ain’t wrong. I know those symbols. You asked me if I’m hungry. I promise, I ain’t some bottomless pit. I’ll tell you when I’m hungry.”

Rub, rub, rub.

His hand is turned around and flattened out, Steve smoothing his hand over Bucky’s palm.

Bucky swallows a sigh.

Great.

Time for spelling.

This day is turning back into being garbage.

He feels Steve pausing, probably wondering if Bucky wants the board or not. “You know my criteria. As long as it don’t have more than three letters, we can try without the board.”

Steve shifts as if he wants to go get the board—definitely a long word then—but Bucky takes a deep breath.

“You know what? Forget the board. I’m not stupid. I can do it.”

Steve is still hesitating, so Bucky wiggles his hand impatiently. “Come on, let’s do it.”

Dah.

“T.”

Di, dah, dit.

“W.”

Rub, rub.

Di, dah, dit.

“Uh. Hang on. That’s R. Sorry”

Dit.

“E.”

Di, dah.

That’s another easy one that he’s very familiar with. “A.” He’s starting to get tired, but hopefully the word has lots more easy vowels.

Dah.

Bucky’s exhausted. “E?”

Rub, rub.

“What? I know that’s an E. It’s one dit. That’s an E.”

Rub, rub.

Dah. Steve presses extra hard and stretches it across his entire palm to make his point.

“Oh. Dah. Sorry. That’s….T.”

Steve’s fingers have stopped moving.

Great. Bucky doesn’t even remember how many letters they did or what they were. He knows there were T’s and E’s. Or maybe there wasn’t an E? Why can’t he do this? Why is he so damn stupid?

Steve is patiently waiting for him to try to put the letters together.

The longer Bucky’s anxiety swirls, the further away the letters get. “I—I don’t remember. Sorry.”

A kiss is pressed into his palm. Then:

Dah.

Great. Steve must be starting from the beginning.

Bucky doesn’t manage to catch his sigh. He wants to cry.

He desperately, desperately wants to know what Steve wants to say, but he can’t do it. Not like this.

“Stevie, not again. Please? It’s been a shit day today and I can’t do the spelling on a shit day.”

He feels Steve pausing, holding his hand.

“I—I know you wanna communicate with me more, but I can’t do the spelling thing. It’s too hard. I—I’ve been trying so damn hard but I can’t do it. It takes way too long for even simple words and it annoys me that I can’t do it. I know you’re trying so hard and I’m sorry I’m so damn stu—”

A finger is pressed to his lips.

Bucky closes his mouth. His eyes and cheeks feel moist and he realizes he’s started crying.

Steve’s hands move up his arms to his face and the tears are wiped off his cheeks.

“I’m sorry, Stevie. I’m sorry. I—I know it’s frustrating for you.”

He feels Steve’s face pressed against his and Steve’s lips are moving against his cheek.

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut.

Oh, how badly he wants to know what Steve’s saying!

He realizes with a lurch that it’s been more than a year since he’s heard Steve’s voice.

Oh, how he misses Steve’s voice!

He always tries to avoid thinking about the fact that he’ll never hear Steve’s voice again.

No matter what he learns how to do, no matter how many years go by, no matter how hard he tries—he’ll never hear Steve’s voice again.

He wishes—he wishes there was a way he could hear Steve, even if it’s for a few seconds. He’d do anything to hear his voice one more time.

But he knows that’s not possible.

The tears are streaming down his face now and he sniffs hard.

Steve pulls back from his face and Bucky feels a tissue wiping his face. He feels kisses on his cheeks, his chin, his nose, his closed eyes.

He wraps his arm around Steve and pulls him close. Steve hugs him tight, squeezing the fuzzy blanket around him, his lips moving against Bucky’s temple.

When Bucky can’t stop crying—because he’s being ridiculous and today’s a terrible day—he feels Steve leaning back and pulling Bucky’s hand between them.

Frantic question marks are drawn on his palm, one after the other.

“I—I miss your voice, Stevie. I miss hearing you say my name. I miss hearing you laugh. I miss hearing you talk about whatever comes into your head. I—I remember what you sound like, but I know I’ll forget at some point and I’ll never get to hear it again,” he chokes out, hoping Steve can understand him through the tears.

Steve kisses his hand and pulls Bucky into his arms, holding him tight. His lips are moving against Bucky’s cheek.

Bucky lets himself cry some more, burying his face in Steve’s chest. Steve re-arranges them on the swing so Bucky’s lying on him, Steve’s arms wrapped around him. From time to time, a tissue touches his face and wipes the snot and tears off his face.

Lying on Steve’s chest and feeling the vibrations of his chest as he talks helps calm Bucky.

It’s definitely not the same as hearing Steve’s voice, but he knows Steve’s saying comforting things and that goes a long way to making him feel better.

Once he’s calmed down, he props his chin on Steve’s chest and nudges his chin with his nose. “Thanks for putting up with me,” he says.

Now that he’s no longer crying, he can feel the slight tremor running through Steve’s body. Frowning, he reaches up and runs his hand up Steve’s neck to his face.

Steve’s face is wet with tears.

“Oh, Stevie! I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to make you cry too. I’m just being a sad sack today. Can you hand me a tissue?”

A tissue is pressed into his hand. He carefully wipes Steve’s face and kisses him.

“We’re a pair today, huh?” He settles back against Steve’s chest. He’s quiet for a while, thinking.

“You know what I’m starting to realize? Being blind makes doing things tough, but I’m learning how to see things and it’s getting easier every day. Even your face—I can see it whenever I want when I touch it. But being deaf is harder. I can listen to some things, but it’s not the same. I don’t know why, but it ain’t. I miss hearing things more than I miss seeing things. It’s weird. I thought it’d be the other way around.”

He snuggles into Steve’s shirt and pulls the fuzzy blanket tighter around himself. It’s a pretty warm day, but he cares more about the comfort than the heat. Steve gently squeezes the back of Bucky’s neck. His other arm wraps around Bucky’s back.

Gradually, his mood lifts.

He wishes he was better at the stupid spelling, but there’s nothing he can do about it. He tries to be sneaky and only ask Steve yes or no questions, but that doesn’t work all the time. He knows he’ll have to keep suff—

Or does he?

Do all deafblind people in the world use Morse code and plastic letters to communicate? He has no idea, but Steve could find out. Or they could make their own system. Part of his problem is that it takes so long to convey each letter that he forgets what the letter is by the time he’s working on the next one. If the symbols for each letter were shorter, easier to understand, he might be able to keep the letters in his head without using the board.

“Steve, can we talk about the spelling thing?”

Steve taps on his back.

“I can’t do it using Morse code. Well, I can do it with the board, but that’s not practical. I hate that you have to go get the board every time you wanna tell me a tiny word, but doing it without the board is just too hard and I’m stressed myself out and that makes it even worse. There’s got to be an easier way. What if we had simple symbols for each letter? Not a bunch of dits and dahs that take forever? That would let you spell things faster and I’d be able to put the letters together faster.”

Steve’s hand leaves his hair and turns Bucky’s hand over. He presses his thumb against Bucky’s fingers. For good measure, he taps the back of his hand a few times.

“We can make up our own or you can see what the computer says. Is that okay?”

Steve has wrapped his arms back around him, so he taps on Bucky’s back multiple times and kisses his temple.

Bucky starts relaxing. Steve will figure it out.

*             *             *

Bucky can tell Steve’s frustrated. They’ve spent most of the day sitting out on the balcony, Bucky making an aluminum foil drawing and Steve on his computer.

Bucky’s sitting sideways on the swing, his feet tucked under Steve’s thighs. He can feel the tension in Steve’s entire body and how he’s hitting the keys harder as time goes on.

From time to time, Steve shifts, the swing sways and a weight is lifted off his thighs—probably Steve getting up to pace around—but then he’s back a few minutes later, tense and annoyed.

Bucky wishes he could help Steve, but trying to assist him with the computer would create more tension than help. He doesn’t even know what Steve’s doing on the computer.

He pulls out his watch and checks the time. It’s almost time for bed anyway. Time to get Steve’s mind off the laptop.

He pulls one foot out from under Steve and pokes him in the side with his toes. “Hey, Rogers. I think it’s time to get you to bed. And I don’t mean for sleeping.”

Steve’s body stills—he’s stopped typing for a moment. A slight vibration in Steve’s body—he’s saying something.

“Don’t argue with me. You’ve been working on the computer all day and you’re just getting more wound up and tense every hour. Take a break for the night and you can keep going tomorrow.”

Bucky puts his art project on the table and shifts over. His hand traces Steve’s thigh, up to his face. He grabs his chin and turns him to face Bucky. A quick peck on the cheek, then he gives him a gentle shove.

“Get going. I’ve got grand relaxation plans for you, mister.”

A not surprisingly short while later, Bucky’s got Steve right where he wants him.

Naked, on his hands and knees on the bed, head buried in his pillow and Bucky stretching him open.

Steve’s entire body is vibrating with tension and arousal and he keeps shifting impatiently. Bucky pulls his fingers from his hole and smacks his ass lightly. “Patience, Rogers. I’m gonna fuck you hard enough to make your teeth rattle, so I gotta get you ready properly.”

He slides four fingers back into Steve. They slide in easily, his hole slick and loose. Satisfied, Bucky pulls his fingers out and squirts more lube down Steve’s ass crack. He traces its path with his fingers and pushes it into his hole. The more lube the better.

“There. That’s a hole that’s ready for hard fucking.” He pulls his fingers free. “Up, up, up, Rogers. To the headboard. Grab on with both hands, but keep some distance. I don’t wanna slam your face into it.” He feels the bed shifting and takes time coating with cock with so much lube that it trickles down his balls.

He shuffles after Steve and finds his ass by feel. “Ready?”

He lifts his hand to Steve’s face and hovers close enough that he can feel Steve nod. They’d realized that using their usual hand signals wasn’t practical during most sexy times, so Bucky relies on cues from Steve’s body and little head nods or shakes.

He lines up and sinks into Steve with one smooth, slow thrust. He glides into his warm, wet hole with no resistance. It feels so good that it steals his breath for a moment.

“Damn, that’s good. Oh, I love lube and I love your ass, Steve Rogers.”

He’s plastered against Steve’s back and feels how tight and tense his entire body is. He props his chin on Steve’s shoulder and reaches forward to grab the headboard between Steve’s braced hands. He feels his motion sensor receiver rubbing against Steve’s shoulder where Bucky’s reaching over him, so he shifts a bit closer to Steve, giving him a little bit of a height advantage. It’s enough that the sensor holster is no longer threatening to chafe Steve.

Alright, back to business.

He doesn’t waste time winding Steve up—Steve doesn’t need any help with that after days like today. Bucky settles into a hard, fast rhythm, staying deep and smacking hard into Steve’s ass with every thrust.

Steve is slowly being pushed forward from the hard thrusts and Bucky pauses his movements and nips at Steve’s ear. “I wasn’t kidding when I said you gotta hold on, Rogers. I don’t wanna slam your face into the headboard.”

Bucky keeps the pace slow, letting Steve adjust himself—shifting his knees further apart and moving his hands to a better grip on the headboard—then Bucky resumes the hard pace, fucking Steve hard and fast.

His heart rate is spiking and he’s breathing in choppy bursts, right against Steve’s ear. He feels Steve’s head bumping into the side of his face, then falling forward, the rest of him staying braced. The room gets warmer as they start to sweat—Bucky can feel the slick slide of Steve’s back against his wet chest. He’s surrounded by the heavy scent of their sweat, arousal and lube.

“That’s it, Stevie. That’s it, my love. My precious, my sweet, sweet Stevie. You feeling good? I know you’re feeling good. You have no idea how good you feel around my cock. You smell so good. Jesus, I love you,” he’s muttering in between gasps of air into Steve’s ear.

He feels Steve tensing slightly more, then his whole body seems to freeze. Bucky knows he’s coming—completely untouched. Steve comes so hard that Bucky feels warm wetness hit his wrist where it’s braced on the headboard.

“Jesus Christ.”

He keeps fucking him, slowing the pace a bit. Steve’s body droops a bit and Bucky takes his hand from the headboard and wraps it around Steve’s chest, holding him close so he can keep fucking him while he regains his bearings. Steve’s chest is covered in sweat and stickiness and Bucky’s hand slides for purchase before grabbing onto his shoulder.

Steve’s head is rolling on his shoulder, his hot breaths warming Bucky’s cheek in short bursts.

“You doin’ alright, sweetheart? Talk to me.”

He feels his hand being lifted to Steve’s face and he feels him nod. Then his hand is moved down to Steve’s cock. He’s still hard, his cock warm and sticky. Bucky rubs his thumb over the tip and feels Steve’s body shudder as a drop oozes out.

“Oh, you’re ready for more, ain’t ya? You wanna change positions or you gonna go back to bracing yourself?”

In answer, Bucky feels Steve shift. When he runs his hand along Steve’s arms, he’s back to bracing himself against the headboard.

Bucky braces his own arm and goes right back into the hard pace from before, pounding into Steve’s ass in hard thrusts.

He presses his forehead against the back of Steve’s neck, feeling the heat from Steve’s skin on his face. He can’t kiss him properly like this, but he can lick a stripe up Steve’s neck, tasting his sweat. Steve’s body’s vibrating—he must be talking.

“You liking this, sweetheart? My darling, my amazing Stevie. I love you so much, you know that? You feel so good,” Bucky mumbles into Steve’s skin.

Steve’s ass is warm from the constant pounding and Bucky keeps up the hard pace. He can feel his own orgasm tingling at the base of his spine, but he ignores it. He’s gonna make Steve come again before he comes.

Steve lasts longer than he did for the first one, but right when Bucky’s starting to tire, he feels Steve tensing and he knows he’s coming.

He fucks him through it. He’s so focused on not coming and not collapsing that he doesn’t notice Steve’s lost his grip on the headboard until Bucky suddenly loses the Steve-wall that he’d been braced against and he’s falling forward, tumbling down on Steve, who has done a face plant onto the mattress.

Bucky lets out a squawk of surprise as they land.

“Jesus, Rogers. Warn a guy next time. I’m still inside you—do you want me to break my dick?”

Steve’s just lying there, his sweaty back heaving he’s breathing so hard. Bucky pulls out and leans over Steve to touch his cheek.

“You okay if I keep going?” He feels Steve nod. Bucky licks his dry lips and tries to catch his breath for his next question. “I can finish on my own, sweetheart. You gotta tell me if you had enough.” Steve’s vigorously shaking his head and Bucky feels Steve’s hand groping at his hip, trying to tug him closer.

Bucky smiles and pushes Steve’s legs further apart so he can sink back into him. He closes his eyes and fucks him in shallow thrusts, enough to get him off but giving Steve a bit of a break.

His orgasm has been waiting patiently for a while so as soon as Bucky lets it happen, he’s coming, pumping hot spurts into Steve’s relaxed body.

He lets himself fall onto Steve, not caring that their hot, sweaty bodies are plastered together. His heart’s racing and he’s having trouble breathing properly.

“Jesus,” he manages to gasp out, although he doesn’t think he manages to pronounce any of the letters properly.

He’s content to just lie there on Steve. He feels his softening dick slide out of Steve’s ass. It stays close enough to Steve’s hole that he can feel warmth trickle out of him. Probably Bucky’s cum and lube.

He groans in frustration. He feels Steve shift under him. Bucky’s arm is splayed out on the mattress and he feels Steve drawing a question mark.

“I wanna reach down so I can feel my cum sliding out of your ass, but I’m too exhausted to move.”

Steve’s body vibrates. He’s laughing.

“Oh, you just laugh it up, Rogers. These are serious problems I’m talking about. You’ve just got no respect, do ya?”

Steve shifts some more and Bucky is gently dumped onto the mattress while Steve turns around. Bucky’s being pulled into Steve’s arms.

He feels Steve’s hands on his face, wiping sweat off his forehead.

He feels something nudge his nose. He nudges back, then realizes it’s Steve’s nose. That means his lips are right there.

He kisses him and Steve lies back, pulling Bucky with him. They kiss. It’s slow—they’re still focused on getting their breath back, but they don’t want to separate.

Bucky reaches up so he can touch the side of Steve’s face. He can tell by Steve’s entire body that he’s relaxed and feels good. He’s forgotten all about the stupid computer.

“How you feeling, darling? Good?”

He feels Steve nod. Bucky smiles and kisses him.

Hopefully tomorrow the computer situation will go better. If not, well, it’s not a hardship for Bucky to fuck Steve through the headboard every day of the week.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of the action in this chapter is from Steve's POV. As some readers have pointed out - we've been seeing things from Bucky's perspective for a while and he's been assuming Steve's doing alright...but is he really?

They’re playing a new game that Steve had bought. Bucky has no idea what it’s called—Steve is avoiding doing the Morse code spelling as much as possible—but the main objective is to drop circular discs into a plastic wall that’s covered in holes. Once a disc is dropped into the wall, the hole it reaches is filled. The objective is to make a line of four discs.

Bucky calls it Line of Four.

Steve has glued soft patches of fabric on one set of the plastic discs so Bucky can feel the difference between his discs and Steve’s.

He frowns, concentrating as he runs his fingers along the bottom row of holes. The first hole is empty. Then there are two smooth discs—those are Steve’s. Then there’s the soft fabric covered disc that Bucky had dropped in the fourth hole to interrupt Steve’s attempt at a horizontal line. The other spots in the row are empty. Bucky moves to the second row, trying to find the disc Steve had just dropped. Ah, there it is. In the second column, second row, on top of Steve’s other disc.

“You’re not getting away with that, Rogers,” he mumbles, grabbing one his fabric discs. “Second column,” he says, carefully feeling for the wall with his disc between two fingers.

He carefully finds the top of the wall and moves his hand along, feeling for the spaces between the plastic which indicate the different columns. Bucky stops at what he knows is the second column. “Second column. This is the spot,” Bucky says, dropping the disc into the column.

He moves his fingers down the column, grinning in satisfaction when he feels the line of Steve’s two smooth discs interrupted with his fabric covered disc sitting right above it.

He knows he can drop a disc into the third column—right over Steve’s other one—and he’ll be able to connect with his disc that’s waiting in the bottom of the fourth column—but he’ll keep that thought to himself.

He waits while Steve decides where to drop his disc.

Once he feels Steve squeeze his hand, he knows Steve finished his turn. Bucky runs his hand along the first row—no new discs. Then the second row—and damn, Steve has dropped his disc in the third column, interrupted Bucky’s attempt at a line.

“Damn! Are you sure, Rogers? I think maybe you put it here by accident—here, let me get it out for you.” He shoves his finger against Steve’s disc and slowly pulls it upwards.

His hand is lightly smacked and the disc drops back down.

“Hey! That’s abuse, that’s what that is! I’m just trying to be helpful and fix your mistake,” he says, laughing. He flails his hand in the air and successfully smacks Steve in the chest.

Steve grabs his hand—his hand’s vibrating. Steve’s laughing too.

His hand is being pulled up and he feels a kiss on it.

“Don’t you go giving my hand kisses and expect me to forgive you, you goof. Now, leave me alone. I gotta make a new plan, seeing how my current plan was destroyed.”

An arm is draped across the back of his chair and a hand rubs the back of his neck.

Bucky runs his fingers along the wall, mentally creating an image of what it looks like now. Steve keeps rubbing his neck, patiently waiting for Bucky to choose his next move.

*             *             *

Steve keeps an eye on the time as they finish another round of Connect Four. When Steve lets Bucky win the next round—making the overall score 2 for Bucky and 1 for Steve—he presses a kiss to Bucky’s hand and does the munching symbol along the side of his hand.

“You gonna make lunch, Rogers?”

“Yep. It’s that time of day,” Steve says, tapping Bucky’s hand. He cleans up the pieces of the game and returns everything to the shelf.

He helps Bucky get situated on the couch with his art kit and pulls his newest creation out of his portfolio for him. Once Bucky’s set up, Steve heads to the kitchen to make lunch.

He makes them tacos using the small hard shells which Bucky can easily eat using one hand. While Steve’s cooking, he notices the garbage is nearly full. He’ll have to take that out once lunch is done.

Bucky’s alright staying in the apartment for the ten seconds it takes Steve to sprint out to the garbage chute in the hall and back—but he’s still doing laundry in the apartment.

While the ground beef is simmering, Steve decides to check on the laundry that’s drying outside. He passes Bucky on the couch. “I’m gonna check the laundry, Buck,” he says.

He knows it’s stupid—talking to Buck when Bucky isn’t aware he’s doing it, but it’s a habit Steve can’t break. At first he got mad at himself for being so dumb, but then decided that nobody knows he’s being dumb, so no harm in continuing.

Thankfully the balcony door’s partially open today, so Steve won’t trigger the motion sensor going in and out. That means he doesn’t actually have to tell Bucky where he’s going.

He’ll go out, check the laundry, and Bucky won’t ever know.

That’s…that’s…that’s one of those things that still seems unreal to Steve.

He shakes that thought out of his head. On some days, the unfairness of all that makes him really angry, but on other days he realizes this is their reality.

He knows by now that it takes Bucky a lot of focus to concentrate on what he’s doing—and telling him every tiny detail of what Steve is doing during the day would take much longer than actually doing the tasks and going back to join Bucky later. Besides, Bucky’s so focused on things right in front of him all the time that he rarely asks what Steve is doing anyway.

He steps out onto the balcony and checks the clothes pinned to the little rack he’s put out here.

“Underwear’s dry, that’s good. Most of the socks are good too. One of the shirts is dry, but the others are gonna need a few more hours, Buck.” He unpins the dry items and carries them inside. He passes Bucky—who’s carefully gluing cottonballs to his paper—and puts the items on the bed to fold later.

He goes to check on lunch. He stirs the ground beef. “Beef’s almost done. Just gonna chop up the vegetables.”

He takes the head of lettuce and tomatoes out of the icebox and gets out the cutting board. “What do you think? Will one tomato be enough, or do we want two?”

Of course, there’s no response to his question.

“I’ll make us two. If we have leftovers, we’ll eat salsa and chips tonight after dinner. That’s a good plan, huh?”

Again, no response.

Bucky’s quietly working on his art project on the couch, completely unaware that Steve’s speaking to him.

That cloud of sadness threatens to settle over him, but Steve firmly gives himself a shake and starts chopping the tomatoes. “None of that today, Rogers. Come on. We’ve had a super day. Stay focused and stay positive.”

*             *             *

Steve has one of those days where things aren’t going well right from the start.

Bucky has a dizzy spell when he’s in the shower from turning around too quickly—those are getting rarer as time goes on, but they still happen—so Steve reaches into the shower to help him sit on the stool before he falls over.

It means Steve completely soaked and needs to change into dry clothes once Bucky’s out of the shower.

Then Steve cracks the eggs too hard into the pan and bits of shell end up in the eggs. Steve spends several frantic minutes picking the pieces out before the eggs cook. He manages, but he’s slightly frazzled already and turns on the coffee maker without remembering to put coffee into the machine—so he gets a nice pot of hot water.

“God damn it, Rogers. Pay attention!” He snaps at himself, pouring the hot water down the sink.

Bucky’s sitting at the table, patiently waiting for breakfast. “Sorry, Buck. I’m not doing great today. Breakfast will be a bit slower than normal.”

No response.

He hurries to get the coffee maker set up, then the eggs are ready. He gets the sausages out of the icebox and tosses them into the frying pan. Slices of toast are put into the toaster and he goes to check on the coffee maker. By the time he gets back to the frying pan, he realizes he’d turned the heat on way too high and half the sausages are burnt.

“Oh for crying out loud! Get it together, Rogers. Seriously!” He decides the burnt sausages are edible and puts the burnt ones on his own plate.

After breakfast, he monitors Bucky washing dishes.

Then he helps Bucky get situated on the living room floor to play with the building blocks Steve bought for him a few days ago.

“Can you grab my blanket, please?” Bucky says.

“Sure thing, buddy.” Steve taps him on the hand and grabs his fuzzy blanket from the couch. He drapes it over Bucky’s shoulders and guides Bucky’s hand to the containers of little blocks, making sure he knows where everything is.

Bucky touches everything, frowning in concentration.

“You good on your own for a while?” Steve asks. He taps Bucky on the chest and presses his thumb against his fingers. Then a question mark.

“Yeah I’m okay.”

Steve heads back into the kitchen and washes their breakfast knives. He checks on Bucky as he works. He seems content and focused on what he’s doing.

Maybe…maybe today Steve will try to have a real shower.

When Bucky had first come home, they had showered together, but when Bucky got the hang of doing it on his own, Steve was left on his own. He knows that Bucky wouldn’t mind if he left to shower, but _he_ minds he leaves to shower.

What if Bucky falls and hurts himself? Steve won’t be able to hear him cry out over the rushing water, and if Bucky fumbles around to try to get himself sorted out, he could hurt himself even more.

Steve knows he’s being stupid and paranoid, but he’d rather be safe than sorry.

He’s spent most of his life bathing out of a bucket of water, so he doesn’t see anything wrong with continuing that.

Sure, the reason _why_ he’s doing it today isn’t the same as it was back then, but who’s gonna complain about it?

Not Bucky.

And not Steve himself.

And there’s nobody else around.

So Steve usually strips himself down and washes out of the sink in the bathroom. He can keep an eye on Bucky the entire time. He’s had a couple of close calls where Bucky gets up and comes into the bathroom to use the toilet—but Steve can see him coming and he always has enough time to wrap a towel around himself and hurry out of the bathroom to wait by the front door until Bucky’s done.

So far, Bucky hasn’t noticed Steve’s adapted showering method.

But there’s that nagging voice in the back of his head that’s been telling him that he can’t keep doing things like that.

He’s been leaving Bucky alone for longer and longer periods of time, and the more confident Bucky gets at doing his art or his other activities, the more certain Steve is that Bucky will be happy staying in one spot and won’t do anything that could get him hurt.

The problem is: Steve can’t go to Bucky and tell him that he’s gonna shower. Bucky’s gonna question why the hell Steve is telling him now—hasn’t Steve been showering these past few weeks??

Bucky’s gonna get mad if he knows how overprotective and paranoid Steve has been.

It’s best if Bucky is kept in the dark about it. Literally.

So Steve decides to give it a shot and have a quick shower.

In the bathtub—not the sink.

He takes his clothes off right there in the living room. He wants Bucky out of his eyesight for the shortest period of time possible.

When he’s taken off his underwear, he races to the bathroom, jumps into the shower and turns on the water. The water is ice cold when it shoots out and he lets out a startled shout, steps back and nearly trips on Bucky’s stool. He fumbles and manages to grab the bar on the wall and get himself seated without falling out of the bathtub.

“Jesus Christ, Rogers! Get a hold of yourself!” He reaches through the cascading freezing water and adjusts the temperature.

Once the water is warmer, he quickly washes himself. Steve’s put little pump bottles into a rack glued to the wall so Bucky can easily dispense what he needs with a press of his fingers. Steve washes his hair with one hand and washes the rest of himself with the other—

—and he’s turning off the water three minutes later, ears straining to hear if Bucky’s calling for him.

There’s no sound, but that doesn’t mean everything’s okay.

He shoves aside the curtain and hurries into the living room, water dripping off him. He shivers from the abrupt cold, but he’s purely focused on Bucky…

…who’s sitting on the living room floor in the exact same position Steve had left him. He’s pulled the blanket from his shoulders and put it into his lap, but other than that, nothing’s changed.

Steve nearly collapses from relief. “Thank God. Buck, you did so good! And so did I. I showered in the tub! Can you believe it?” He lets out a laugh, really happy with himself.

Bucky doesn’t react. Of course.

Steve feels that twinge of sadness. He wants to share his success with Bucky—but that would involve a very lengthy conversation which is out of reach for them at the moment.

Sometimes he gets the crazy feeling like he’s invisible. A ghost. It’s still so strange to be doing things around Bucky and not have him react. Sometimes Steve has to look down at himself or go look in the bathroom mirror to make sure that yes, he’s still here.

Steve sighs sadly, but then shakes himself. He’s getting water all over the living room, he’s freezing, and he needs to keep his day going. He’s got to clean the bathroom, lunch needs to be made, and he needs to put in some computer time today too.

Once he’s dried off and changed, he looks at the clock and realizes he’s a bit ahead of schedule. He showered a lot quicker in the tub than he usually does in the sink, so it’s no surprise he’s gained a bit of time.

He watches Bucky with his blocks, then decides lunch preparation can be put off for a while.

He’s still feeling a bit sad about not being able to share his shower success with Bucky, and he knows the best way to shake that feeling off is to interact with Bucky.

They may not be able to have real conversations, but they can cuddle and Steve can help him with his building blocks. It’s not perfect—but Steve doesn’t let himself dwell on that.

He always feels better when he’s touching Bucky and working with him on something, but he tries to balance his own needs with Bucky’s need to be more independent. He knows Bucky has to get more comfortable being on his own, so Steve does his best to balance both of their needs.

He tries not to let Bucky know when he’s upset. Not only does Bucky get worried and upset with himself for not being able to talk to Steve about it, but if Bucky feels cuddling isn’t making Steve feel better, he always shifts to using sex as a way of cheering Steve up. It’s a nice distraction, but in general the sex doesn’t fill Steve’s need to communicate with Bucky more.

*             *             *

Bucky’s building a tall tower using his building blocks which Steve bought him. The blocks come in a variety of different shapes and sizes and Steve had taped together several of the flat base boards so Bucky can press the blocks down without anything falling over.

He’s built several small things, but he’s currently working on an elaborate, tall building. When Bucky’s sitting down, the building is about eye-height now.

He’s working on adding some pieces that jut out from the side of the building. He thinks he’ll make other buildings later and then he’ll be able to connect them.

He needs a thick, eight dot piece.

He runs his hand over the case with different compartments that hold the different shaped blocks. He counts off until he reaches one of the last compartments. He reaches inside and feels the shape of the blocks.

Eight little bumps on the surface. It’s one of the thick ones.

Perfect.

He holds it in his hand and turns back to his structure. He carefully runs his hand along the flat base boards until he bumps into the side of his building. He lightly runs his fingers up the sides until he reaches the top.

He snaps the eight piece into place and double checks it. Excellent.

Now another eight piece.

He feels a shift in the air and then feels a hand on his hand. He immediately feels the person’s wrist.

Leather bracelet.

Large bead.

Di. Di. Dit.

Dah.

Dit.

“Hi. You wanna hand me an eight piece, please? One of the thick ones.”

The hand leaves. It’s back moments later and presses the correct block into his hand. Bucky focuses on  attaching it next to the other eight block.

“You okay, Stevie?” He reaches over and feels around for Steve’s hand. Steve brings their hands to his own chest, then draws a smiley face on Bucky’s palm.

Bucky frowns. Steve says he’s happy, but Bucky can feel he’s tense. Bucky runs his hand up Steve’s arm, rubbing gently. “You sure? You seem tense. Are you tense?”

Steve doesn’t answer for a moment, then he does a hesitant tap on Bucky’s hand.

Oh, good. Tension is something Bucky can fix. He leers in Steve’s direction. “You want me to make the tension go away? I hear it’s good to exercise before a meal anyway.” He gently squeezes Steve’s hand, waiting for him to tap his hand.

But to his surprise, Steve rubs his hand, squeezes it and repeats his smiley face from before.

Huh.

Okay, maybe Steve’s not in the mood. That’s fine.

“Alright. No pre-lunch sexy times for Rogers. Feel free to change your mind anytime—I’m available.”

He feels Steve bring their hands to his face and he can feel Steve smiling.

“Oh, good. There’s the smile I love.”

He feels Steve bring his hand to Bucky’s own chest, then a smiley face is drawn in his palm, along with the question mark.

“I’m fine. Being inside ain’t so bad if I have something to do.”

They’ve been practicing having Bucky spending more time inside lately. It’s still summer, but they both know winter will eventually arrive, which will force Bucky to spend several months inside. He’s slowly getting used to this whole situation.

His hand is squeezed.

He feels Steve sit behind him, his legs on either side of Bucky’s legs. Steve wraps one arm around Bucky’s chest.

“Wanna help me?”

A tap on his hand.

So Bucky asks Steve for specific blocks and Steve retrieves them. They bring the block to the building and snap it into place together. Sometimes Steve will choose a certain block and guide Bucky’s hand to where he thinks it should go, but mostly he lets Bucky be in charge. Bucky appreciates Steve’s input—he relies on Steve’s eyes to detect certain structural flaws that could bring the whole thing down, and he likes working on something together.

*             *             *

Steve’s sitting on the couch, watching television. He’s got his laptop on his lap, but he’s not having much luck finding useful things today. He’s already spent time doing his usual search for a better communication method but as usual, he’s only finding websites about American Sign Language or other complicated methods which would take Bucky forever to learn. He just wants a simple way to spell things for Bucky.

He’s very close to admitting defeat with the whole thing and just making up their own alphabet, but he’s still holding out hope that he’ll find something which Bucky might be able to use to communicate with other people.

He’s getting a bit better at finding things for Bucky, but he finds that his energy drains more and more rapidly these days. He needs to set himself a time limit, telling himself exactly how much time he’ll spend doing research. Without the time limit, he finds himself gazing off into space, his hands resting uselessly on the keys.

He’s already done the twenty minutes he told himself he’d spend looking for games and activities, but the forty minutes he said he’d spend on researching communication methods is leading nowhere.

When he realizes he’s checked the time on the laptop every minute for the past five minutes, he knows he won’t get a useful forty minutes of research done.

His failure annoys him, which adds to the general grey mood that’s settling over him.

He’s trying to get rid of his darkening mood by watching television. It’s a show about a couple looking for a new house. They live in Boston and they’re looking for an older home. The realtor is just showing them the second house.

“Oh, this one’s nice, Buck. Look at those floors! They look like they’re original. Maybe even from our days. They’d make perfect firewood, wouldn’t they?”

Bucky’s sitting next to him on the couch, working on an art project. As usual, he doesn’t respond.

Steve makes a face when he sees the wallpaper in the living room in the house. “That wallpaper is not original, that’s for sure. Look at that! Who would want that many flowers pasted to their walls?” he chuckles. The wallpaper is awful enough to be funny and he can’t believe that Bucky isn’t laughing too, so he glances at him—

And he remembers why Bucky isn’t laughing.

His heart twists. “ _No._ No. Keep it together, Rogers. Come on. Keep watching the show. They’re going into the kitchen. Let’s check out the kitchen.”

He forces himself to watch the screen, Bucky sitting silently next to him, gluing aluminum foil onto his paper.

No matter how hard he tries, Steve can’t seem to focus on the show anymore, so he turns it off. The computer is leering at him from his lap, so he puts it on the table and gets up to do something else.

It’s time to do another load of laundry anyway, so he grabs the dirty clothes, dumps them on the bathroom floor and fills the bathtub with water. He pulls the washing detergent out from under the sink and gets to work, scrubbing the clothes.

The physical labor nicely keeps him occupied.

He’s covered in foam and water and he’s in the middle of scrubbing a pair of his jeans when the intercom buzzes. Shit, it’s Tuesday, so that’s the groceries delivery.

“Buck, can you grab the door? It’s the groceries,” he shouts over his shoulder, dunking the jeans under water and scrubbing at a stubborn stain—is that ketchup?

The intercom buzzes again. For Christ’s sake—“Buck! Answer the door! I’m half in the tub with the laundry here.”

He scrubs at the stain some more. Jesus Christ, is it really asking so much for Buck to get his ass off the couch and let in the—

—and that’s when Steve remembers.

He freezes, the water logged jeans in his hands.

That dark cloud comes flooding back over him and he squeezes his eyes shut. He’s got a lump in his throat and he knows he’s seconds away from losing it—but then the intercom buzzes again.

He pushes himself up, dries his hands on a towel and races to the intercom, vigorously rubbing a hand over his face to stay in control. He presses the intercom ‘talk’ button. “Hi! Sorry, sorry.”

The man announces in a bored voice that he’s from the grocery store that Steve orders from.

“Come on in,” Steve says, pushing the button.

He looks down at himself. He’s soaking wet, he’s got foam on his shirt and Bucky’s sitting on the couch, completely unaware that Steve desperately needs help.

Not just with the groceries, but with life in general.

There’s a knock on the door and Steve goes to open it. He pays for the delivery and pulls the bags into the front hall. Bucky’s lifted his head the moment he felt the door being opened, and as soon as the door is shut, Steve hurries to the couch.

“Was it the groceries, Steve?” Bucky asks.

“Yeah, Buck.” He taps Bucky’s hand.

Satisfied, Bucky relaxes and reaches for his paintbrush in the glue pot.

Steve stands there, less than a foot from Bucky, staring down at him. “Buck—Buck I ain’t doing too well today. I feel—I don’t feel too great today.”

He’s very, very close to just collapsing next to Bucky and crawling onto his lap and crying his eyes out, but he knows that would alarm Bucky. Plus, after cuddling, Bucky will probably use sex to make Steve feel better, and Steve’s absolutely not in the mood.

Plus, Bucky’s having a good day and he’s got more important things to worry about, so Steve takes a careful step back from the couch.

He wraps his arms around himself, his shirt still moist. He needs to focus. He needs to put the groceries away and he needs to finish the laundry.

He brutally shoves the roiling emotions in his gut to the side and goes to take care of the groceries.

Once that’s done, he heads back into the bathroom. He manages to finish scrubbing the clothes, rinses them out and twists the water out of them. He shoves everything into the basket and goes outside and hangs them up on the rack.

He’s not feeling any better when he comes back inside. He stands by the couch, looking down at Bucky.

“Buck—I’m having a hard time. I—I miss you. I know you’re right here, but I miss you. And I know that’s stupid, but I feel like I’m here all alone, just like when I woke up. That’s stupid, but that’s how I feel.”

He feels tears brimming his eyes. He clenches his jaw, his hands itching to pick up his phone to call Natasha—but she’s on a mission so she won’t answer.

The only other person who could possibly make him feel better is sitting right there on the couch—but he’s on a completely different world.

Steve doesn’t want to upset Bucky, so he goes to the front door. He slides down it and pulls his knees up. This is the one spot in the apartment which he knows Bucky won’t come to.

This is the one spot he can sit and have a good cry without Bucky being aware of it.

He lets the tears flow—the grief heavy in his gut.

Grief for their old lives.

Grief for their old friendship.

How is it possible to be living in the same apartment, yet he feels like they’re worlds apart?

“I know this is way harder for you than me, Buck, but I need you to help me. I know that’s not fair on you, but that’s what I need. I need to talk to you and I can’t and it’s killing me. I—I just—I miss you.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for taking the time to send kudos and especially to the amazing people who take the time to write reviews. It truly means the world to me to know that you are enjoying this story as much as I am.
> 
> It's finally time for the boys to find a new communication method! That should solve all of their problems, right...?

As is always the case, after Steve has a good cry, he feels a bit better about everything.

Nothing has actually changed, but he feels better. Or at least, he feels strong enough to continue with his day.

Steve knows he can’t afford to take a single day off. Bucky depends on him for so many things and Steve doesn’t want to make Bucky’s life any harder than it already is.

Once he’s back in control of himself, he goes to prepare dinner.

When dinner’s done and Steve’s supervised Bucky doing the dishes, he finishes washing the knives and they play a few rounds of Connect Four.

Steve loves playing games with Bucky. Once Bucky gets the hang of the game, he gets comfortable enough to be able to joke around with Steve while playing it. Unlike in other situations, it’s easy to have a conversation while playing games together even without using any complicated spelling.

They make each other laugh, they’re both on the same page, and best of all, Steve doesn’t feel alone.

Once they’re done, Bucky spends time with his building blocks and Steve gets on the computer.

Since he’s had a good cry today and he just finished playing a game with Bucky, he’s feeling newly re-energized and he tells himself he’s going to spend at least one hour on the computer. Thirty minutes looking for a communication method and thirty minutes looking for a new toy or activity for Bucky.

That’s how he finds the special markers.

*             *             *

A few days later, Bucky gets an amazing present from Steve. Well, all the presents Steve gets him are amazing, but this one is especially amazing.

When Steve hands Bucky the package of markers, Bucky frowns and informs him that he appreciates the present but his markers from his kit are still good. Why is Steve spending money on things they already have?

Steve takes the package out of his hands.

Suddenly, Bucky can smell a strange, chemical scent right under his nose. It smells kind of like an orange, but an orange that’s been drowned in toxic chemicals, and it’s way too sweet.

“What? What the hell is that? That ain’t a real orange,” he says.

He feels Steve grab his hand and wrap it around what he can tell is one of the markers. Steve’s hand is shaking and tense. Bucky hopes it’s from excitement, not concern. He doesn’t know what Steve could be worried about where markers are concerned—so he’s pretty sure it’s excitement.

As soon as the marker is within smelling distance, Bucky can smell the orange scent.

He freezes.

Oh, my God.

_Oh, my God!_

“Oh, my God, the marker has a smell??” He gets very excited for a second, until he deflates slightly. Probably all the markers smell like oranges. It’s neat but it won’t help him distinguish the colors.

He feels the marker being taken out of his hand and being replaced with another one.

He sniffs it.

And nearly falls over. Cherry. It smells like cherry. Not orange.

“This—Steve, is it red? Cherry red?”

Tap, tap, tap.

“The orange one, is it an orange color?” He’s barely breathing.

Tap, tap, tap.

A shiver of excitement runs down his spine. He wants to cry. He wants to run around, telling the entire world.

“Are you serious? They [each](https://www.amazon.com/Mr-Sketch-Scented-Assorted-12-Count/dp/B00006IFH0) have their [own smell](https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/G/01/aplusautomation/vendorimages/1f2a250f-a8a3-487e-8848-d7919432c3eb.jpg._CB290371251_.jpg)?? I can actually color things and know what color it is?”

Tap, tap, tap.

Still holding the marker in his hand, he steps forward and yanks Steve into a hug. “Stevie, this is the best thing that’s happened since you got me my cane. Oh, my God—I can color properly!”

He does a happy little dance, jostling Steve along. Steve’s lips are moving against Bucky’s cheek and he’s vibrating—Bucky knows he’s just as excited.

Bucky pulls back and kisses Steve. His aim is slightly off and he smacks a kiss on to his cheek, then he adjusts and kisses him properly. “Thank you! This is so great! So great! I can’t wait to use them!”

He insists on smelling each of the colors one by one and identifying what they are.

There are only a few he can’t identify. Once he’s figured out the easy ones, he returns to the unidentified markers and sniffs each one, wracking his brain for any association he can make with those particular chemical smells. Some smell sweet, some smell gross, but he has no idea what the scent is supposed to represent. When he informs Steve that he has no idea what they are, Steve sticks one of them under his nose, then reluctantly smooths out his hand to start spelling the name of the color. Bucky pulls his hand back with a grimace.

“Is it a color I have to use often?”

A rub.

He hands it back to Steve. “Then put them away somewhere. Once we have a better spelling system, you can tell me what color it is.”

But Steve is hesitating. He firmly wraps Bucky fingers around a particular marker, and when Bucky brings it to his nose, he barely has to sniff it before he’s gagging from the disgusting stench. “Oh, not this one again!”

He quickly holds it away from him. “Lid, Steve! Put the lid back on it! That smell can’t be healthy.”

But Steve—the punk—is being insistent, pushing Bucky’s hand back towards his face.

Fine. “Is it a color I _need_ to use, Stevie?” Please say no, please say no.

A tap.

“ _Really?_ They made an important color have such a disgusting smell?”

Another tap.

Bucky sighs. “Fine. Spell it out.”

Steve goes to get the board. Steve isn’t bothering with the Morse code anymore—he just spells words on the board. It’s more work for Steve, and it doesn’t really allow Steve to communicate a lot of words at once, but it’s better than the stupid Morse code spelling that Bucky can’t get the hang of.

When Steve’s done laying out the plastic letters, Bucky runs his fingers over them until he knows what the word is.

B-L-A-C-K.

“What the hell is black and stinks so bad?” he demands.

He feels Steve lift Bucky’s hand to his shoulders and he can feel Steve shrugging.

Whatever.

He won’t let anything ruin his mood today.

He has a whole set of colored markers that he can use and actually know what color he’s using!

“Rogers, grab some paper and throw some sticky string things on it—I don’t care what it looks like. Meet me at the table. We have some serious coloring to do!”

*             *             *

“You don’t sound good, Rogers.”

Steve sighs, glaring at the computer on his lap. It’s a pretty bad sign when he sounds so mopey that Natasha can detect it from the way he says ‘Hi Nat’. “I’m—I’m not a hundred percent.”

She sighs unhappily. “Okay. That’s it. I’m gonna get you guys some help. I’ll call—”

Fear races down Steve’s spine, and with it comes anger. “The hell you are! I ain’t letting them put Buck into an institution! That ain’t happening!”

There’s no way— _no way_ —that anybody will come and take Buck away.

He remembers different teachers trying to be sneaky and make ‘special appointments’ for him to go to certain places for ‘special evaluations’. He remembers his ma would always be livid and put the teachers in their place, and Buck would stick to his side like glue in case somebody came and hauled him away while they were playing stickball or eating lunch. Every strange adult who walked past them got a nasty look from Buck, warning them without words to stay away.

“Steve, calm down. Did I mention anything about institutions? Quit letting your anger run the show—you’re acting like an idiot. Obviously I wouldn’t send somebody over there who would try to take Buck away.”

Steve clenches his jaw. “You won’t be sending anybody over here, that’s the end of that story.”

He doesn’t trust any of those kinds of people, and besides—Buck had never needed extra help taking care of Steve. He isn’t gonna dodge his responsibilities just because they have money for extra help these days.

She sighs—it’s her angry sigh, not her sad sigh. “Okay, I’m putting my foot down. Not being able to talk to that boy of yours is literally driving you crazy, and that’s gonna stop now. I’m gonna spend two hours looking for an alphabet that you can use, and I don’t find anything, we’re gonna make our own.”

Her attitude is really starting to annoy him. “You think I’ve been sitting here, doing nothing? I’ve been working on it!”

“I know, but you aren’t in a good place right now so your energy is being sucked up with feeling like shit. You’re practically moving backwards with everything else.”

“What the hell do you know you?”

She’s silent for a moment. “Quit taking it out on me, Steve. Please? I’m trying to help and trust me, the worst thing you can do for Buck is to shove me away. He’s depending on you to figure this out, and if you aren’t going to listen to a professional, you have to listen to me.”

He’s still livid. “I’ve been doing the best I can! I’d never, ever do anything to make things harder for him!”

“I know that, Steve. Listen, my precious little idiot, I _know_ that. But you’re under a lot of stress and you haven’t had a break and right now your brain is at the stage where it’s no longer completely under your control. You gotta let me call the shots for a little while, okay? I promise I won’t hurt Bucky.”

His anger slowly drains. He looks at Bucky sitting quietly on the couch next to him, coloring in a picture of a cat with his scented markers.

What is he _doing_? Why is he arguing with Natasha, when she’s offering to help them?

Shit.

He rubs a hand over his face and leans back against the couch. “I’m sorry, Nat.”

“I know. Don’t worry about it. We’ll figure this out, one step at a time, okay?”

He’s struggling not to cry. “Okay.”

“Here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m gonna look on the internet, and you’re gonna tell me every little thing that you’ve been wanting to tell Buck over the past week.”

He smiles sadly. “Thanks Nat, but I ain’t gonna bore you with telling you about the TV shows I’m—”

“Yes, you are. Tell me about the TV shows. Tell me how Bucky’s doing. Tell me how your showering’s going. Believe me, after the month I’ve had, you’re doing me a favor. Go ahead—talk my ear off. I’ll let you know when I found something.”

*             *             *

“So they had to take out the entire floor in the basement and redo all the plumbing. It was a disaster.”

Natasha makes a clucking noise. “But the guys fixed it, right?”

“Oh, yeah. They also—get this—they also put in some tubing under the floor that supposedly heats the floor! Did you know they make things like that? Heating under the floor?! Insane.”

She chuckles. “You’re such a dinosaur.”

“Ha ha. Anyway, so then they—”

“ _Oh_! Rogers, I hate to interrupt you, but I think I found it.”

Honestly, Steve doesn’t even remember what she’d been searching for. He’s just so happy to be having a conversation with somebody. “Found what?”

“Oh, my God, you. Check your email, I’m sending you links.”

Steve’s put the computer on the coffee table but he dutifully pulls the computer back onto his lap and logs into his email. While it’s loading, he checks on Bucky. He’s switched to a different color and he’s working on the cat’s ears.

His email loads and he sees Natasha has sent him an email with two links.

He clicks on the [first one](http://www.deafblind.com/card.html).

The top of the page has a title in bright orange font: The Deafblind Manual Alphabet

Steve nearly stops breathing. “Is it—is it—”

“It’s easy, Steve. One little symbol for each letter, just like you wanted.”

The pictures are a bit grainy but when he scrolls down a little, he sees there are descriptions for each letter.

‘For A, Touch the tip of your friend’s thumb’ it says.

“Is—is—” He’s trying to talk and read at the same time and it’s not working well.

“Steve, I have no idea what you’re trying to say.”

He tears his eyes off the page. “Does it repeat movements? The A is touching the thumb, how many other letters use the thumb?”

“A couple of them, but none of them use the tip of the thumb. This is good, Steve. Each letter is distinct and simple.”

He’s back to reading. He scrambles to put the phone on the armrest of the couch and puts it on speaker. He holds out his left hand and uses the index finger of his right hand to start tracing the letters on his palm, trying out the letters.

‘Touch the tip of your friend’s thumb.’

A.

‘Bunch the tips of your fingers and place them on your friend’s palm.’

B.

He runs through all 26 letters, and as Natasha had promised, they’re all different and they’re all simple.

Such an immense feeling of relief settles over him that he nearly bursts into tears. “This, this is doable Nat. I think Buck will be able to do this.”

“I know he can. And I know you can do it too. And you know the best part? This is an official alphabet. If you’re ever dealing with strangers, like in a hospital, you can tell them Buck needs the deafblind manual alphabet to communicate, and they’ll find somebody who knows it. That’s huge, Steve.”

He’s nodding. He’s barely remembering to breathe.

He’s started from A again, spelling the letters on his palm. He has to blink hard to keep the tear at bay, but he can’t start crying now.

He has work to do.

He runs through the alphabet twice more, then at Natasha’s urging, he watches the [short video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tXCiAeLnh7E) she’s sent him. The video has no sound and shows a man’s palm. A man does the symbol for each letter and a woman copies him. He’s teaching her how to make the symbols on his palm.

He starts the video at the beginning and does each letter with them, and he gets more and more excited the more he watches. Here are two people, complete strangers, who are using this new, wonderful alphabet.

At the end of the video, he watches in amazement as the woman spells a phrase on the man’s hand.

She’s communicating an entire sentence on the man’s hand!

_An. Entire. Sentence._

“Nat, Nat, I’m gonna teach Buck.”

She laughs. “Good. Hurry up. And then practice. Both of you. Good luck, and call me if you need me. I’m here until Tuesday.”

“I love you, you know that, right?”

“I love you too. Hurry up and get the board so you can start explaining to Buck.”

*             *             *

Bucky’s coloring with his wonderful new scented markers. He’s almost done the multi-colored cat he’s working on. While he loves doing his art projects—the scented markers are a wonderful addition—he’s getting a little bored of it. The building blocks are great—he needs to use his brain a lot more to create more complicated structures—but he’d really love some more variety in his life.

He thought spending those ten months in prison would cure him of that—but he spent nearly thirty years doing a million things every day. He tries to convince himself that this is his new reality and he has to get his brain accustomed to enjoying less complex tasks.

But telling himself that and actually getting his brain to go along with it are two different things.

For now, he’s very careful not to give Steve any hint that he’s bored.

He knows how hard Steve’s working to find him activities to do, and he knows Steve is responsible for taking care of all the chores, plus he has to help Bucky with a lot of things. Steve didn’t choose any of this—so the least Bucky can do is put on a good front.

He can spend hours wracking his brain and trying to come up with new ways of doing the little pile of activities he has, and he can desperately hope for Steve to find more things for him to do—but on the outside, he’s going to smile and be enthusiastic. If Steve is happy to see Bucky spending four hours with his building blocks—then Bucky will spend four hours with his building blocks, with a smile on his face, and telling Steve how much fun he’s having.

He focuses back on the picture of the cat. He touches his watch and realizes it’s getting pretty close to bed time.

He’s trying to determine if he’ll have enough time to finish the cat today—when he’s interrupted by Steve abruptly grabbing his thigh and shaking it.

He startles slightly—he knows Steve is sitting next to him on the couch, but that doesn’t mean the punk should just grab him like that—

But before he can admonish Steve for it, he realizes Steve is really, really excited about something. Steve’s shaking Bucky, kissing him all over, his whole body vibrating and he’s talking a mile a minute. He takes Bucky’s hands and runs them over the computer, then taps a dozen times on his hand.

Bucky has no idea why Steve is so excited, but clearly he’s found something on the computer that will help them.

Bucky’s being pulled to the floor so they can sit facing each other. Bucky feels something being placed into his lap. He runs his hand over it and recognizes the metallic board.

Steve is pushing a plastic letter under Bucky’s fingers. Bucky brushes his fingers over it.

It’s the ‘A’.

Okay.

“That’s an A.”

He feels a tap on his hand. Then his hand is turned over, and his thumb is tapped.

Bucky waits.

Nothing more happens. He has no idea what the thumb tap meant, but if Steve’s gonna spell on the board, he’s gotta get a move on. He’s thrilled that Steve isn’t using code, but he doesn’t understand why he isn’t putting the next letter down. He really wants to know what Steve found on the computer.

“Rogers, I’m ready. It’s an ‘A’. Do the next letter.”

Rub, rub, rub.

Instead of another letter being placed by the A, his hand is turned over and pressed over the A again.

“It’s an A. I already said that.”

His hand is turned over and his thumb is tapped. The tap is a lot harder than it normally is.

Bucky frowns. “What—is that what you wanna do for A? The tap on the thumb?”

Tap, tap, tap on the back of his hand.

“You—you found an alphabet? An easy alphabet?”

Tap, tap, tap. Steve’s practically smacking his hand, he’s so excited.

“The symbols are easy?”

Tap, tap, tap.

A glimmer of hope erupts in Bucky’s chest. Maybe, maybe this will be doable.

“Okay. Thumb tap is A. Alright. Next.”

The A is removed and Bucky’s hand is pulled over the next letter.

It's a B. “That’s B.”

His hand is turned over and he feels a bunch of Steve’s fingers poking him in the center of the palm.

“Middle of the palm, a bunch of fingers. That’s B.”

Tap, tap, tap.

The letter C involves Steve running his finger down the outside of Bucky’s thumb and then up the outside of his index finger.

“Hey, that’s neat! That’s like a C! I like that one.”

Then he feels a tab on his thumb. “That’s A.”

Tap, tap, tap.

Bucky’s shifting around, actually feeling excited about this spelling thing. The symbols seem to be easy and straight forward. It’s something he knows he’ll be able to handle.

“Keep going, Steve. You don’t gotta do the magnets unless I’m not tracking the letters right. Do D.”

*             *             *

Steve goes to bed feeling lighter and happier than he has in weeks. Even the first night with the motion detector hadn’t made him feel this good.

Buck had flown through all 26 letters and they’d run through the entire thing twice more. Buck had remembered about a quarter of the symbols by the end of their third run, and Steve pretty much had it memorized by then.

He’s already mentally re-arranging their schedule for the next day, wanting to fit in as many practice sessions with Bucky as possible. Maybe they can even start doing words tomorrow!

With practice, he knows he’ll eventually be able to actually talk to Bucky.

He’ll be able to actually. Talk. To. Bucky.

They’re finally back on track.

*             *             *

Bucky pulls his reheated coffee out of the microwave and shuts the door. Steve has moved the microwave so it lives on the counter now. If Bucky knocks over whatever’s in the microwave, the contents will spill out on the counter—not over Bucky’s head.

Grabbing his mug, he very carefully makes his way out of the kitchen. Holding a cup filled with liquid in his hand makes it impossible to use his cane, but he’s starting to get comfortable enough in the apartment to move short distances without his cane.

He takes three steps, then turns right. He takes two more steps and carefully sweeps the area around him with his foot until he smacks into the table leg. Putting his mug onto the table, he moves around the edge of the table, keeping a hand on it until he’s reached Steve’s chair.

He finds Steve and wraps his arm around his chest and kisses the top of his head. “Hey.”

His hand is pulled from Steve’s chest and turned over.

A quick swipe over his palm. H.

A tap on the tip of his index finger. I.

H-I.

A little pause.

A bunch of finger tips pressing into the center of his palm. B.

A tap on his pinky finger. U.

A swipe along the edge of his thumb up to the tip of his index finger. C.

A finger is curled against his index finger. K.

B-U-C-K.

The entire thing has only taken seconds and Bucky has been able to keep track of the letters easily. With so little time required for each letter, it’s easy to keep a clear mental image of what the letters are.

“You said ‘Hi Buck’.”

Tap, tap, tap on the back of his hand.

Bucky’s grinning, a burst of pride in his chest. He wraps his arm around Steve’s chest again. “That’s so cool, Stevie! I can hear you say my name!”

He can’t believe Steve just told him two separate words, all in one go and they didn’t need the board and it only took seconds!

He feels Steve turning around and then he’s got Steve’s arms wrapped around his waist and Steve’s face is pressed into his stomach. His mouth is moving against Bucky’s belly.

“I’m proud of me too. Also—I’m proud of you. You learned that whole alphabet just as fast as me. You don’t need your cheat sheets anymore and I don’t need the magnets anymore.”

He kisses Steve’s head.

“You wanna come sit outside with me?”

Tap.

*             *             *

They’re lying on the living room floor, playing the word game. They’ve got one metallic board that’s for the letters, the other board is for the man picture.

Steve told him the game’s called Hangman, but Bucky doesn’t understand what hanging has to do with it, so he just calls it the word game.

Steve twisted together a bunch of the waxy strings that they use on his drawings and he’s created a round face, an oval torso and four thick arms and legs.

Right now it’s Steve’s turn. Bucky runs his hand along the letter board and counts five of the little waxy string pieces, signifying a five letter word.

He starts with the vowels. “A?”

Tap on his hand.

He feels a motion in the air and knows Steve’s shifting around, adding the magnetic A to the spaces. Bucky runs his fingers over it. The first space now has the A on it. The other four spaces are empty.

“E?”

Yes, the E goes into the last space. But there’s no I, so the I letter is put on the board above the word so Bucky can keep track of which letters he’s guessed.

Bucky makes a face as he grabs for the round waxy head and smacks it onto the other board.

There’s also no O, so Bucky adds the torso below the head.

He randomly guesses L, which ends up being the fourth letter.

Bucky frowns and runs his fingers over the letters. A. Space. Space. L. E.

“Oh! Apple! Obviously!”

Tap, tap, tap.

Bucky grins. “Yay!”

Steve adds the two Ps to the word and Bucky runs his hand over it, feeling very satisfied with himself.

“Okay, Rogers. My turn. You reset and I’ll think of a word.”

He settles on the word ‘Punk’ and instructs Steve to please lay out four letter spaces on the board.

Steve taps on Bucky’s thumb. “Nope, no A.”

Bucky’s in charge of the man board so he adds the waxy head. He knows Steve is putting the magnetic A on top of the letter board.

A finger is hooked around his pinky. “No, no S, Rogers.”

The torso is added.

Middle finger tap. “No, no I. Jesus, Rogers. You’re not doing very well,” Bucky chuckles and adds an arm to the man.

When Steve incorrectly guesses an M, Bucky goes to add the other arm to the man on the board—only to realize that the man’s first arm has gone missing.

Oh, he. Did. Not. Just.

“Rogers! Did you steal the other arm?! You cheating twit, you! I don’t believe this! You thought I wouldn’t notice?”

He pushes the two boards aside and grabs through the air until he feels Steve’s shirt. “Where’s the other arm, huh?”

He can feel Steve leaning back and his whole body’s vibrating. He’s laughing hysterically.

“Oh, you think this is funny, punk? Huh? Disregarding the rules? Blatant cheating? What the hell is this world coming to? I’m living with a degenerate. This is unbelievable!”

Steve laughs harder and Bucky tackles him to the floor. Bucky tries to stay serious but he’s grinning too hard. He feels Steve trying to roll them over and dump him off but he flattens himself over Steve. He grapples for both of Steve’s hands and pins them above his head.

“Now try and cheat, Rogers.”

Steve’s laughing and wraps his legs around Bucky.

Bucky leans down and noses along Steve’s neck up to his face. He gives him a hard kiss.

“So, the question is, how are you gonna make it up to me, huh?”

He feels Steve’s lips moving against his. He kisses him again. “Oh, I’m pretty sure I know what you’re saying. And all I can say is that you better deliver top quality if you wanna make up for the trauma you’ve put me through.”

He feels Steve laughing against his lips, then they’re tilting over and Bucky sprawls out on the floor, Steve on top. Bucky releases his grip on Steve’s hands and they run down Bucky’s face, down his shirt and over his sweatpants.

He feels Steve’s hot breath on his groin and he feels Steve rubbing his face against him. Bucky lifts his hips. “It works better if the pants are off, Rogers.”

Steve obliges and pulls the sweatpants and his underwear down to his knees. Bucky’s not that hard, but moments later, Steve’s wet hand is stroking him and his cock fills quickly.

He feels Steve settling between his legs, his breath hot and moist on his hardening cock. A soft lick right over the head and his cock is enveloped in the familiar warmth of Steve’s mouth.

Bucky lets out a happy sigh. “Oh, you can cheat all you want, Rogers, if this is how you’re gonna make it up to me.”

*             *             *

Within a week, they’re spelling abbreviated sentences to each other. Bucky is a bit surprised when he realizes that Steve is automatically leaving out certain filler words and only communicating the most essential words in a sentence.

And he rarely does more than 3 words per sentence.

It’s a let-down. Bucky was very hopeful that their new communication method would allow them to spend more time chatting with each other. He’d love to spend more time interacting with Steve like that, plus, figuring out what Steve is saying would be a nice way to keep his brain busy. He knows he’d be able to handle more complex sentences with practice…

…but then he realizes he’s being selfish. Communicating like this takes up a lot more time than talking did, and he already takes up so much of Steve’s time with other things.

It makes sense that Steve doesn’t want to draw out their communication.

Quick and to the point is what Steve seems to be gravitating towards.

Well, if that’s what Steve wants, that’s what they’ll do.

While Bucky would love to communicate with Steve a bit more, he’s not going to be selfish and make Steve sit there and spend half an hour telling him about mundane things.

*             *             *

Before Steve heads into the kitchen to make lunch, he decides it’s high time that he give Bucky a choice about what to eat for lunch. Due to their communication difficulties, Steve hadn’t been able to ask Bucky wants he wants to eat and he’s been using his thirty-year knowledge of the jerk to make him things he knows he likes.

But now he might be able to ask him.

He sits down next to Bucky who’s working with his building blocks. He touches Bucky’s hand and lets him feel the leather bracelet.

“Hi, Stevie.”

Steve flattens out Bucky’s palm.

H-I.

He mulls it over how to ask the question. He doesn’t want to frustrate Bucky and turn it into a sentence that’s too complex to keep mental track of.

Bucky must sense his hesitation. He shoots a smile in Steve’s direction.

“What’s wrong?”

Steve still hesitates. Should he spell out ‘What do you want to eat?’. That’s a very, very long sentence.

He could do an abbreviation: ‘What you want’ and then do the munching gesture and a question mark.

“Stevie, is it a real important question? If not, you don’t gotta ask me. I’m fine.”

A sinking feeling settles in Steve’s chest.

He—he thought they’d be able to have actual conversations with this new spelling method.

But…but maybe he’s being selfish. Bucky has to spend so much time focusing on his daily activities that it’s no wonder if he finds it difficult and time consuming to deal with big sentences.

Well, Steve isn’t going to make his life any harder than it already is.

He gently squeezes Bucky’s hand and releases it.

“It’s fine, Buck. Don’t worry about it.”

He stands up and heads to the kitchen. By the time he gets there, his throat clogs and the tears spill over.

Instead of making lunch, he goes to sit by the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Along with the two embedded links in the chapter which showed the deafblind manual alphabet, [here](https://www.deafblindinformation.org.au/about-deafblindness/deafblind-communication/deafblind-manual-alphabet/) is another website which shows the pictures for each letter more clearly.


	13. Chapter 13

Steve’s already lying in bed while Bucky gets changed. He’s changed his sweatpants into boxers already, now he’s pulled off his shirt. He hands the shirt to Steve, who throws it into the laundry hamper for him.

Bucky is focused on unfolding his sleep shirt. He gives it a few shakes, but when he tries smoothing it out on his lap to get it flat and ready to pull on, it stays in a stubborn bundle. He makes a face.

“Steve, help. Stupid thing’s gotten tangled up.”

He feels Steve sit up behind him. Steve’s arms reach around him and he works on untangling the shirt. While he’s working, Bucky can feel that Steve’s leaning over Bucky’s left shoulder. While he fusses with the shirt, Steve props his chin on what remains of Bucky’s left shoulder, right over his collarbone. That entire area is covered in scar tissue.

Bucky freezes.

Steve has been respecting Bucky’s request to stay away from his left side, and usually he’s pretty good about it. Nobody touches the disgusting areas except Bucky—and he only does it when he’s having a shower or drying himself.

Bucky’s about to remind Steve, when Steve finishes untangling the shirt, smooths it over Bucky’s lap, presses a kiss to the (horrible, disgusting) scarred skin and retreats.

The kiss had been automatic—it hadn’t felt like a deliberate act.

Like Steve hadn’t even thought about it—he’d just felt Bucky’s skin under his chin and decided to kiss it before he lay back down.

How— _how_ can Steve put such an unconscious declaration of affection on something so horrible?

Doesn’t that entire area have a (metaphorical) huge, glowing sign on it—stay away, this area is gross and shouldn’t be touched…?

Bucky certainly thinks so.

Steve’s eyesight is fine, Bucky knows it’s fine. Better than fine, actually.

So Bucky knows Steve can see the scar tissue. How can he just put his lips on it like it’s no big deal?

Unless…

Unless…it…isn’t that bad?

Is that even possible?

“Steve—do you…”

He feels Steve shift behind him. He’s waiting for Bucky to finish asking his question.

When Bucky doesn’t say anything, Steve takes his hand and draws a question mark on his palm.

“I—Is it really not that bad?”

Another question mark.

“The—my shoulder. My left shoulder. Is it…it’s not horrible to you?”

Steve’s answer is immediate.

Rub, rub, rub, rub.

Bucky doesn’t understand that. “Why? I know it looks disgusting. It don’t look like my right shoulder, that’s for sure. Why is it not a big deal to you?”

He feels Steve shifting and moving his hand so he can spell on Bucky’s palm.

U-S-E-D.

T-O.

I-T.

“Still. Even if you’re used to seeing it, you shouldn’t be kissing it. There’s a difference between accepting that something’s ugly, and _kissing_ it.”

Steve is silent for a moment.

Then:

H-U-R-T.

“What? No, it don’t hurt. It’s a bit more sensitive than the other side, but that’s it.”

Rub, rub, rub.

Bucky figured he’d gotten it wrong. Besides, Steve hadn’t put a question mark after the word ‘hurt’. So it hadn’t been a question. That makes even less sense.

A-B-U-S-E.

Again, there’s no question mark. It’s a statement. But a nonsensical one.

Bucky doesn’t get it. “You ain’t making any sense. What abuse?”

The bed shifts. Steve’s sitting up. He’s stretching his legs out around Bucky and he slides up so he’s pressed against Bucky’s back. He picks up Bucky’s hand again.

Together, they tap on Bucky’s right shoulder.

H-U-R-T.

Bucky’s about to explain to the dumbass that no, his shoulder doesn’t hurt and that isn’t the topic of this conversation—but Steve’s continuing.

Again, there’s no question mark. Steve’s making a statement.

Their clasped hands gently tap on the remainder of Bucky’s left shoulder.

L-O-T-S.

H-U-R-T.

They tap on Bucky’s right shoulder again.

D-E-S-E-R-V-E.

They rub over Bucky’s heart.

They tap on Bucky’s left shoulder.

D-E-S-E-R-V-E.

They rub over Bucky’s heart. And they keep rubbing over Bucky’s heart.

And they keep rubbing over Bucky’s heart.

Bucky smiles softly and gently pulls their hands away from his chest. “I get it. I guess you’re right. My left side’s been through a lot. I guess it would be kinder to give it some love rather than ignoring it, huh?”

Tap, tap, tap.

Steve presses a gentle kiss to the scar tissue by his collarbone.

Steve is still holding his hand and he taps Bucky on the chest, presses his thumb against his fingers, then a question mark.

Bucky takes a deep breath. “I—I guess I’m okay with it if you’re really okay with it. I don’t want you touching that area just because you pity—”

Steve’s one hand vigorously rubs the back of Bucky’s hand, while the other squeezes him around the waist.

A firm kiss is pressed to his left shoulder.

Bucky smiles. “You’re really okay with it? You’re used to it?”

Tap, tap, tap.

Their hands tap Steve on the side of the head.

S-H-O-W.

Bucky’s chest.

Question mark.

Bucky manages a smirk. “Well, I ain’t ever gonna say no to letting you have your way with me.”

Steve shifts back and snatches the shirt off Bucky’s lap. Bucky nudges past him and lies down in his corner.

As soon as he’s lying down, Steve’s straddling him and kissing his neck.

The kisses are soft and light, purely affectionate and not meant to arouse. Steve kisses down his neck, across his chest and moves to his right shoulder.

He kisses his way back to the center of Bucky’s chest and just as slowly kisses his way to his left shoulder.

Unlike the last time they’d been in this situation, Bucky doesn’t stop him.

He carefully catalogs Steve’s kisses, trying to determine if the kisses are hesitant, or if there’s any other sign that Steve’s forcing himself to do this.

But there’s no sign of that.

Instead, Steve spends even longer on his left side than he had on his right. He presses gentle, slow kisses to his left shoulder and travels down over his scarred ribs, nuzzling and kissing the damaged skin.

Bucky’s not completely comfortable with it, but Steve is projecting so much love through his kisses that Bucky doesn’t want to stop him.

Maybe Steve’s right.

Maybe Bucky’s been treating his left side a bit unfairly. It certainly has been through a lot.

Maybe it _does_ deserve more love instead of less love.

*             *             *

Steve’s on the couch, relaxing while he waits for Bucky to finish wiping down the counters. He no longer stands beside Bucky while he’s doing the dishes and Steve’s way too comfortable to do the knives right now. He listens to Bucky wiping the counters and unfolding his cane and slowly making his way to the couch.

Steve stays still, watching him sweeping the cane back and forth, finding the table and then the couch. Bucky gets to the couch and folds up his cane, putting it on the coffee table next to Steve’s phone. He bends over Steve and reaches out, finding his shoulder.

“What are you doing, punk?”

Steve smiles and lets Bucky run his hand along his body, figuring out how he’s situated on the couch.

“Oh, excellent! You’re in perfect cuddling position.”

Steve shifts a bit back and lifts up an arm, letting Bucky carefully climb onto the couch and settle over him, burying his face in Steve’s chest with Steve’s arm around his back.

That’s when Steve’s phone ring. He glances at it.

It’s Natasha.

As always, a happy surge fills his chest. Finally—a person he can have an actual conversation with! While he can now communicate with Bucky regarding day-to-day issues, he’s slowly giving up hope that they’ll ever be able to talk the way they used to.

Steve feels a bit guilty for looking forward to his chats with Natasha so much, especially because Bucky is completely unaware of how much Steve chats with her on the phone.

He reaches out the hand that’s not wrapped around Bucky and taps the button to accept the call, then puts it on speaker.

“Hi,” he says. He hopes he doesn’t sound too excited.

“Hi, you.”

“You back home?”

“Yup, until Wednesday. How are things?”

Steve smiles. “Things are going well. We’re pretty much fluent with the manual alphabet.”

“So things are going well?”

Well. Yes and no. But he doesn’t want to bother Natasha about that right now.

“Oh, yeah.”

Bucky snuffles softly and makes himself more comfortable on Steve’s chest. Steve knows he can feel the vibrations in Steve’s chest when he’s talking, but he’s probably assuming Steve’s talking to him or himself.

“So, Rogers?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you guys knit?”

He frowns. “Knit? Yeah. Why?”

“Really?” She sounds surprised.

Steve chuckles. “Yeah, really. I don’t think you realize how much time I had to spend indoors and confined to a  before the serum. And Barnes here wanted to spend time with me, but there’s only so many things you can do when you’re bedridden and weak for weeks on end.”

“You said he’d read to you.”

“Oh, he did. He’d read whatever he could get his hands on, or he’d make up stories—”

She makes an interested noise. “What kind of stories? Stuff about what he was doing while you were sick?”

Steve chuckles. “Oh, no. Never. I’d get into a snit real quick if he was telling me about the things that I was missing, so he’d always make up stories. Most of them would feature the intrepid adventures of Stevie Bear and Bucky Bear.”

“Bears, seriously?”

Steve smiles down at Bucky, who’s dozing against his chest. “Barnes has always had a damn good imagination. Came in real handy when we were sleeping in the mud in the middle of winter in Europe.”

Steve smiles to himself, lost in memories. The rest of Howlies laughed about Stevie Bear and Bucky Bear at first, but they started appreciating the stories real quick. “But anyway, you can’t do that all day long for weeks. We’d get bored and get into snits with each other, so one day Ma pulled out two sets of needles and yarn and taught us how to knit.”

She laughs. Steve smiles at the memory and rubs Bucky’s back. This is something else he misses—he knows Bucky remembers everything from before, but jogging his memory about a specific event while only using a few simple words is difficult—and honestly it’s more trouble than it’s worth.

Steve has no idea if Natasha actually likes listening to him reminisce, but he’s selfish enough to not care. He’s just thrilled to have somebody to share the stories with.

“Yeah, we’d knit scarves at first—that’s easy—and then we’d do socks and hats and things. Buck would make things for me or for his sisters. He was really damn good at it. I was slow—my hands would cramp up and my vision wasn’t the best, and when I was sick, I’d be too weak to hold the needles for very long, but Buck would take over and do a few rows and then I’d have enough strength to keep going for a bit. We made a ton of our own clothes and other things.”

She’s quiet for a moment.

“So, why the question about knitting?” He asks.

“I was looking online for stuff that Barnes might be interested in, and I found this [knitting aid](https://www.knittingaid.com/) that can be used by people with one arm.”

Steve freezes, about to sit up, when he remembers that he’s got a Bucky-blanket draped over him, and he doesn’t want to tell Bucky about this if it turns out to be nothing.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. It works really well according to the reviews. Mostly it’s used by older people who had a stroke or who have bad arthritis in one hand. I’m texting you the link right now. I don’t know if he’ll be able to do it blind, but you said he used to be good at it so…”

Steve hears his phone ping and he reaches over to open the text. He taps on the link and brings the phone to his face so he can see the website.

It’s a wooden device which is designed to sit in the knitter’s lap. The needles can be inserted into the device and they’ll be held stationary in whatever position the knitter puts them. The top of the device has a soft cushion so the knitter can rest their wrist on the cushion and reach down with their fingers to manipulate the yarn and the needle tips.

This might work. This might actually work! He’s careful to keep himself calm so he doesn’t alert Bucky to what’s happening.

“You know what? I’ll order one and see if I can use it, and if it works well, I’ll see if Buck wants to try it.”

“Okay. Let me know how it goes.”

“Will do. Hey Nat?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re the best, you know that?”

She laughs. “Believe me, I know. Give Buck a kiss for me.”

“I will. Good night.”

“Night.”

*             *             *

When the knitting aid arrives, Steve makes sure Bucky is busy out on the balcony with his art project before he pulls out the yarn and needles he’d also ordered and gets things set up.

He decides to try knitting without the aid first.

That turns out to be a good decision. It takes a while until his hands remember what they’re doing, but eventually the yarn stops becoming a tangled knotted mess and starts resembling neat rows of stitches.

Once he’s got the hang of it using both hands and his eyes, he decides to try it from Bucky’s perspective. First he decides to try it with one hand. He sticks his left hand under his thigh and stares at his right hand, holding the needle and yarn. Okay, let’s do this.

He realizes immediately that it’s not as easy as he’d thought.

He gets stuck right away when he has to cast on the first row of stitches. He squeezes the needle between his knees with the needle pointing straight upwards, and he carefully moves the yarn and his fingers around the needle until he manages to cast on the first stitch.

It takes him ages.

And he’s only managing to get it right because he can see what he’s doing.

Once he gets the first row cast on, he puts the needles into the knitting aid and starts knitting. It actually works quite well. The device is supporting the needles so he can focus on moving the yarn and the tip of the needles.

He manages, but again, the only reason it’s a success is because he can see what he’s doing.

He closes his eyes and tries it, but he doesn’t get anything close to a knit. Once his eyes are closed, his fingers get clumsy and don’t remember which part of the yarn is used for what purpose. His fingers get tangled in the yarn and that tangles the yarn on the needles—and it turns into a mess.

So he puts the entire thing aside and goes to make lunch.

He tries again for several days, but the process remains frustrating and painstakingly slow.

He’s trying to find hobbies that will make Bucky happy, not just keep him busy, and he thinks that doing knitting like this is a little too advanced for them right now.

He has no doubt Barnes will be able to do it eventually, but when he has so few options to keep him busy during the day, Steve doesn’t want one of those options being a frustration.

So he hides the knitting aid on top of the shelving unit in the living room wall and goes back to the internet.

That’s when he stumbles across [loom knitting](https://www.amazon.com/Lion-Brand-Yarn-Martha-Stewart/dp/B004W8W2V6/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1491098236&sr=8-3&keywords=loom+knit).

It’s not something that had existed back in the 30s, but wow, Steve would have been able to knit much easier if he had one of these back then. The websites he finds show the loom and other supplies, but don’t really show how to do the knitting, so he decides to see if he can find videos. He’s very fond of the fact that there are so many wonderful people in the world who decide to make videos of themselves doing something and they put it on the internet purely with the intention of helping other people learn.

How fantastic is that?

The [very first video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F_EkZADJlPs) which he comes across shows a woman demonstrating how to loom knit a dog sweater. Steve’s marvelling over the large sweater that she’s holding up, which even has little holes for her dog’s legs. The dog is practically sitting in her lap and the whole thing is really cute. The woman uses a measuring tape to demonstrate how to take measurements on her dog. Steve notices that she’s not using her left hand while she struggles to stick one end of the tape under her patient dog’s collar so she can measure his back. He thinks that’s a bit strange…

…and then the woman makes an offhand comment that she’s disabled and she can only use her right hand, so she asks the viewers to pardon her for not using both hands.

Steve bursts out laughing and nearly falls off the cough.

“Are you kidding me? Oh, my God. This is too good.”

This must be universe trying to balance things out for him a bit.

What are the chances that he stumbles across a video on loom knitting…and the instructor isn’t only disabled—but she’s missing the use of the same arm as Bucky?

Wow.

Steve feels a hundred percent more confident that this will be something Bucky can do.

He watches her finish the measuring and then begin the loom knitting, carefully explaining what she does as she does it. She struggles with the loom a bit due to only having the use of one arm, but it looks doable. The knitting process itself is surprisingly simple and straight forward, so Steve orders a small loom and anxiously waits for it to arrive.

When it gets there—Bucky’s been getting suspicious about these deliveries, but Steve lies and tells him they’re grocery deliveries—Steve sits down and tries it. He doesn’t want to tell Bucky about the knitting idea until he’s found a method that will work for him. If the whole idea is too complicated at this point, he’ll put it aside until Bucky’s ready for it.

He decides to try it one handed right away. If the woman in the video could do it, and he’s going to expect Bucky to do it, he might as well give it a go. He can hold the loom sideways between his legs and wrap the yarn around the pegs with one hand. Once he’s got two rows of loops on the pegs, he tucks the loose end of the yarn under his thigh so the whole thing doesn’t unravel and he grabs the little pick tool and pulls the bottom loop over the top loop and off the peg.

One row of stitches done—and he’s done it in record time and only used one hand.

But there’s still another hurtle to go.

He unwraps everything from the loom, puts everything down, closes his eyes, and starts from the beginning.

It’s much slower doing it when he can’t see what he’s doing, and making sure he’s only pulling one loop off the peg and not both is also tricky, but by moving the pick slowly and feeling its progress with his finger, he can do it.

He moves all the way around the loom and then opens his eyes to take a look.

The stitches are a bit loose, but this is doable. Perfect.

“Oh, Barnes, you’re gonna love this!”

He pulls everything off the loom and goes to get Bucky.

*             *             *

Bucky is over the moon when Steve hands him the yarn and the knitting needles, until reality sets in and he realizes that he’s one arm and two eyes short of being able to do it.

“Rogers, it’s a nice idea but—”

Rub, rub, rub, rub, rub.

Then the needles are taken out of his grasp and being replaced by something plastic. Bucky puts the object on his lap and runs his hand over it. It’s a plastic circle with pegs on it.

“What the hell is this? And what does it have to do with knitting? Rogers, I wanna find things to do, but if it’s too frustrating then—”

Rub, rub, rub, rub.

Steve pulls Bucky’s hand off the plastic thing.

E-A-S-Y.

Bucky makes a sour face. “I doubt it.”

Steve gives his hand a hard shake. Then:

I.

T-R-I-E-D.

They’ve stopped pointing to each other’s chest to communicate ‘Steve’ or ‘Bucky’ a while ago. They realized that spelling out 'Y-O-U' or a simple 'I' on Bucky’s palm was much faster.

The only time Steve still tapped their chests was when he was telling Bucky he loved him. For some reason, he really liked the sequence of those motions, so he’s keeping it.

“That’s nice, Rogers, but you doing it ain’t the same as me doing it.” He doesn’t mean to sound annoyed, but he kind of is. He hates it when Steve gets him excited about something only for them to figure out that he can’t do it. He hasn’t done it in a while, which is why Bucky’s extra annoyed now.

His hand is being shaken again.

I.

T-R-Y.

B-L-I-N-D.

“Okay. But I’ve still only got one hand. How the hell can I knit with one hand?”

I.

T-R-Y.

O-N-E.

H-A-N-D.

A small glimmer of hope starts blooming in his chest. “Really? You tried it without eyes and only one hand? Seriously?”

Tap, tap, tap.

“And it was doable?”

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

Steve’s so excited that he’s practically smacking his hand, but Bucky doesn’t care. If this works—oh, my God, if this works he’s got another hobby that he can do by himself!

“Okay, let’s do it. I’m ready. Let’s do it.”

Steve pulls him to the couch and sits them down so Steve’s behind him and his chin is hooked on Bucky’s right shoulder.

Steve steers and Bucky focuses intently on what Steve is having his hand do. The plastic thing is wedged sideways between his knees and Steve hands Bucky the yarn. They wrap the yarn around a little nob on the side of the plastic thing to keep it in place, then they slowly loop the yarn around one of the plastic pegs. Then they move to the next peg and do another loop. Then the next peg and so on.

Eventually they hit Bucky’s knees, so they tuck the yarn under Bucky’s thigh and readjust the plastic thing. Then they pick up the yarn and continue. Once they’ve gone around twice, Steve puts a metal tool thing into his hand and carefully shows him how to do the next step. That part’s trickier—Steve has to put a finger on the tool to stop it’s movements a couple of times when Bucky’s about to do it wrong—but he eventually gets the hang of it.

When they’ve moved around the plastic circle multiple times, Steve tugs the circle out and puts it on his lap. Together, they touch the neat rows of wool stitches that they’ve created.

Bucky’s face erupts in a smile. “Look at that! Look what we made, Stevie! Oh, my God!”

He turns his head and kisses Steve on the cheek. He can feel Steve smiling against his neck. Steve gives him a tight squeeze, letting him know how proud he is.

“Let’s keep going! I wanna do more!”

*             *             *

Bucky’s out on the balcony working on one of his art projects. He’s painted the stem of the flower a nicely smelling lime green, now he’s painting glue in one of the petals. He rummages through his small containers and finds the black pepper. He presses the pepper grains into the petal, carefully feeling around the edge of the waxy stick lining the edge of the petal, making sure he didn’t miss a spot.

Suddenly, he feels a burst of air and feels his hand being grabbed. He reels back, a burst of fear and shock racing down his spine until he realizes that the stranger is taking Bucky’s hand and running his fingers along the leather bracelet on his wrist.

Large bead.

Di, di, dit.

Dah.

Knowing it’s Steve does calm him down somewhat, but Steve is always slow and gentle when approaching him. He never just grabs him.

“What the hell, Rogers? Give a guy a little—”

He feels Steve roughly brushing the pepper flakes off his palm and then he’s frantically talking, spelling very quickly.

I-N-T-E-R-C-O-M.

Bucky’s confused. “Intercom? What the hell do you mean ‘intercom’?”

Steve is spelling something else. Bucky can feel the tension in his grip on Bucky’s wrist and the shakiness in his finger while he spells.

C-O-M-I-N-G.

N-O-W.

“Who? Who’s coming? Someone’s coming here? Now? Who?”

He feels himself being frantically tugged to his feet. He clenches his jaw, feeling fear for the first time in weeks. He feels his drawing slide off his lap and he’s being pulled inside.

There’s definitely something bad going on. Steve would never just let one of his drawings slide to the ground like that. And Steve wouldn’t yank him around like this unless it’s something bad.

Steve’s pulling him too hard and Bucky didn’t have time to pull out his cane, so he stumbles over the doorframe with a muffled curse and it’s only Steve’s grip on him that keeps him from doing a face plant into the living room.

“Rogers! You gotta slow down! What’s going on? Who’s coming?”

Steve’s arms around him are shaking and Steve’s entire body is tense and anxious. Dread is curling in Bucky’s stomach and for the first time in weeks, the darkness and silence around him are pressing in on him again, thick and suffocating.

He’s pulled forward and then he’s being turned around and shuffled backwards until he feels the back of his calves hit the couch. He sits. Immediately, Steve’s hands leave him.

“Stevie, wait! Where are you going?!”

He’s left alone in the dark until he feels something on his arm.

The motion sensor is vibrating.

It’s not the vibrating motion of the balcony door.

That’s the one designated for the front door.

Did they get a delivery? They aren’t expecting anything and Steve always tells him in the morning if they’re expecting a delivery during the day.

Bucky waits, his senses on hyper alert, trying to figure out what’s going on.

The sensor vibrates again.

That was the door closing.

He stays still, waiting for Steve to come back and explain.

But Steve doesn’t come.

While he waits, a new, horrible thought enters his mind.

Maybe when the door opened, somebody had come into their apartment.

Maybe strangers are in their apartment _right now_.

But who could possibly be in here? If they’re a danger to Bucky, Steve wouldn’t have led Bucky to the couch in the open living room. He would have shoved him into the bedroom, out of the way.

That rational part of his brain tries to remind him that he doesn’t _know_ there are any strangers in the apartment…but he doesn’t know for sure that there _aren’t_ strangers in here!

Bucky hunches in on himself, automatically trying to protect himself from whatever—whoever—is here. There could be a hundred strangers!

And where’s Steve?

Maybe…maybe the people came in and tricked Steve into thinking they were friends, but then they attacked him?

Shit, he needs to help Steve.

Well, first he has to protect himself, then he has to help Steve.

His hand anxiously skitters across his thighs until he feels his cane holster. That’s better than nothing. He pulls his cane out and it snaps into shape. He tightens his grip on it, ready to use it. He needs to help Steve.

“If you’ve hurt Steve, I’ll kill you. I’m warning you now,” he says, hoping he sounds threatening enough.

Suddenly, he feels a hand on his arm. It’s a gentle touch, but it’s unexpected and when Bucky shakes the hand loose and touches its wrist, he doesn’t feel a leather bracelet.

Fear clutches him.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit!

There _are_ strangers in the apartment!

He yanks his arm free and shifts away from the touch. He stays on the couch—if he stands up, he’ll need to use his cane to move around and can’t use it to defend himself.

“Don’t touch me!” he snarls, lifting his cane in what he hopes is a threatening manner. “Get the hell out of here! What did you do with Steve?”

Several minutes go by, during which his brain is racing a mile a minute, throwing up one disaster scenario after another.

Then there’s a hand touching his hand again. He gropes for the wrist, ready to shake it off again if it’s not Steve—but there’s the leather bracelet.

A quick check, just to make sure—

Large bead.

Di, di, dit.

Dah.

Dit.

It’s Steve.

He calms immediately. He feels Steve pulling the cane from his grasp and then it’s being put back into his holster. Bucky doesn’t fight him. There’s no hesitation in Steve’s movements, no question, no pause. Whatever’s going on, Steve means business.

His hand is clutched in Steve’s hand and Steve’s frantically spelling on his palm.

Y-O-U.

B-E.

B-R-A-V-E.

Bucky’s head is reeling. “Why? Why should I be brave? Who’s here, Steve? What’s going on?”

I.

W-I-L-L.

C-O-M-E.

“Come where? I don’t understand. What’s going on?”

Y-O-U.

B-E.

G-O-O-D.

A ball of dread twists in his stomach.

This is not good. Nothing about this is good.

Bucky feels frantic kisses being pressed into his palm and then on his cheeks. “I—”

His hand is being pressed to Steve’s chest, then rubbed over his heart, then being pressed to Bucky’s chest. “I—Stevie, I know. I know that. Why—what’s going on?”

His throat is getting tight. He’s on the verge of tears and he’s confused and he wants the strangers out of their apartment.

He’s being pulled to his feet. He feels a presence close to him. Since Steve is on one side of him, the presence can’t be Steve. He immediately shifts closer to Steve. “Stay away from me!” he snarls in the direction of the presence.

He feels Steve’s forehead press into his and a kiss on his cheek. Then Steve is back to spelling frantically.

I.

W-I-L-L.

C-O-M-E.

A longer pause, giving Bucky time to understand the words before continuing.

Y-O-U.

B-E.

G-O-O-D.

There’s a shift, and Bucky feels the motion detector being unstrapped from his arm. No, no, no. the motion sensor is only removed if he has to shower. There’s no good reason why Steve would be removing it now. “What are you doing?”

Another shift and a presence steps closer. A strange hand grabs his bicep. Bucky’s about to tear himself out of the grasp, but then he feels Steve’s hand right under the strange hand, lightly squeezing his arm.

Right.

Be good.

He has to be good.

He doesn’t know what the hell is going on, but he has to be good.

These strange people will eventually leave and then Steve will explain.

Another kiss on his cheek. He feels the moisture on Steve’s face as he’s pulling away. “Why are you crying, Stevie? What’s wrong?”

More spelling.

G-O.

W-I-T-H.

T-H-E-M.

Bucky reels back from him. “What?! What do you mean go with them? With who? Why? Rogers I  ain’t—”

Steve’s face is pressed against his again, his tears smearing on Bucky’s cheek. His lips are moving against Bucky’s wet cheek.

Steve’s squeezing Bucky’s hand over and over again, pleading with him.

Fine.

_Fine._

Whatever the hell’s going on, obviously Steve can’t stop it. Bucky can’t fight properly and he doesn’t want to risk having them hurt Steve in retaliation.

_Damn it!_

“Okay. I’ll go. You’ll come get me?”

Tap, tap, tap.

“Promise?”

Tap, tap, tap.

Frantic kisses on his face and his palm.

“Okay. Okay, I’ll go.”

Y-O-U.

B-E.

G-O-O-D.

“I will. I promise.”

Y-O-U.

B-E.

B-R-A-V-E.

“Don’t worry, Rogers. I got this,” he says.

Whatever ‘this’ is.

He feels something being pressed into his chest. He touches the edge of the object—they’re his running shoes. He obediently lifts one foot, then the other and leans on Steve’s shoulder as he slips Bucky’s feet into his shoes and ties the shoelaces. Then Steve helps him pull on his jacket, zipping it up for him. It’s not cold out, but it’s better to be prepared. He can feel Steve fussing with the empty left sleeve, ensuring it’s pinned to the body of the jacket and won’t flop around in the wind.

He feels Steve stepping back, then the strange hand on his arm is pulling him forward. He digs his heels in. “Will you hold up for a second? Jesus. I’m not a dog on a leash. You don’t gotta yank me around. I need my cane if we’re gonna walk anywhere.”

He pulls out his cane. The familiar shape of it in his hand is a comfort. As the strange hand pulls him forward once more, he follows along, letting the cane roll in front of him.

He steps out of the apartment, leaving Steve behind.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't read the end note before reading the chapter, unless you want to get spoiled! Time to find out where Bucky was taken and why...

As soon as Bucky steps out of the apartment, he’s so disoriented that he has no idea what direction he’s facing or where he’s going. He hasn’t left the apartment building since he’d come home with Steve.

There’s a tight ball of fear in his gut and he focuses on his cane rolling back and forth in front of him, reassuring him that there’s nothing blocking his path in the darkness surrounding him.

The hand on his arm is pulling him along and he follows, hoping the idiot will keep his pace even. He has no idea where he is or where he’s going and if he’s pulled forward any faster, he’ll start panicking.

He realizes he’s sweating, his heart hammering in his chest. He’s terrified, but he’s using so much focus on reading what his cane is telling him that he doesn’t actually have that much energy to devote to his fear.

He uses it to his advantage.

He doesn’t let himself dwell on where he’s going or who he’s going with. He doesn’t focus on the fact that he’s walking through an unknown darkness, the silence pressing in on him, every step an unfamiliar lurch into this endless dark abyss.

He focuses on what his cane is telling him. The floor stays the same, then he’s pulled to a brief stop. When he’s pulled forward again, his cane bounces over a small obstacle. He steps over it.

He can feel the breeze and sunshine on his face.

They must be outside.

A moment later, his cane suddenly drops into nothingness. His heart skips a beat and he tries to stop, but he’s being pulled along so quickly that his feet end up following—and he’s falling face first into nothing.

He lets out a panicked shout, and frantically hopes that he’ll be able to brace himself somehow—then the hand that had been holding onto him grabs his jacket sleeve and pulls him back.

Once he’s got both feet under him again, he can’t breathe for a second, his throat is so tight with fear. His heart is racing in his chest and he’s so terrified that he can’t move.

He wants to go back inside. God, he wants Steve and he doesn’t want to go with these people.

A moment later, he’s pulling tugged forward. He digs in his heels. “Are you whacked? I ain’t going forward—there’s nothing there!”

Another strong tug. These idiots aren’t giving in.

He realizes he’s being pulled sideways.

Oh.

That could be alright. He lets himself be pulled to the side and then his hand is put on something cold and metallic that seems to be sloping downwards. He yanks on it—it’s pretty sturdy.

He’s so panicked that it takes him a second to realize it’s a railing.

Which means the reason he thought he was falling off a cliff was because these idiots were trying to lead him down a set of stairs. So they’re not trying to shove him off a cliff, but pretty damn close.

He hasn’t had to go down steps yet, and he’s really not excited to be doing it for the first time surrounded by these nitwits.

“You better not let go of me, cause if I fall and die Steve will kill you, I promise you that,” he says. “Hold my cane.” He holds out his cane and feels somebody take it. It frees up his hand so he can hold the railing properly. He feels hands on his jacket.

For the first time, he welcomes the strange hands on him. Okay, let’s do this.

He wishes he knew how many steps there are, but even if he asks, these people won’t know how to tell him in a language that he understands.

Keeping a tight grip on the railing, he shifts one foot carefully forward until he feels the ground drop out from under his foot again. He wishes he could use his cane to tell him how wide the step is and how far down the next one is—but that would mean letting go of the metal thing.

Damn, if only he had two arms!

He leans forward a bit more, his heart hammering frantically in his chest. His foot’s still going down into nothingness. It’s a terrifying feeling to be lowering his foot and not having it encounter anything.

Although he knows that he’s not stepping off a cliff, it sure feels like it. He’s so scared he thinks he’s about to start crying.

Then—

He feels the step underneath his foot. He carefully puts more weight on his foot, wiggling it a bit to check how wide the step is. There seems to be sufficient room.

Clenching his jaw so tight that his teeth are aching, he brings his other foot down too. Then he shifts the first foot forward—and there’s nothingness again. His foot goes down, down, down—then he hits something solid again. Once he’s got that foot down, he brings the other one.

It seems to take hours until he reaches a spot where he moves his foot forward and continues to encounter solid ground.

He puts both feet on it and shuffles forward a bit. He must have reached level ground.

He survived the steps.

After verifying that he’s definitely back on level ground, he slowly lets go of the railing that he’s been his lifeline during the endless trip down the steps.

The first thing he does is pull the strange hand off his jacket.

That turns out to be a pretty dumb decision.

Now that he’s not so focused on his feet anymore, he realizes he’s standing in the darkness and has no idea where anything or anyone is. The fear which had briefly abated when he finished with the steps comes flooding back. “I want my cane. Give me my cane.”

He holds out his hand and thankfully feels the handle pushed into it. He’s always been very fond his cane, but he feels like he’s being reunited with a dear friend.

Please help me, cane, he thinks. I can’t focus if I keep panicking. He slowly feels around himself with the cane. He doesn’t encounter anything except solid ground, which is a good sign.

He wants to sob with relief. He barely has time to recover from the entire ordeal when a hand grabs his elbow again.

Oh.

He’d forgotten about these idiots. The hand pulls him to a stop and he feels his hand being tugged—the person trying to fold up his cane.

Bucky yanks his cane out of the grip. “Don’t touch my cane! I can fold it.”

He folds it up and tugs it into the holster. Then he’s being pulled into a leathery seat. A slight vibration to his side, then the smells around him get heavy and thick. They must be in some tiny room.

There’s a vibration all around him and they’re moving forward.

A car. He’s in a car, being taken somewhere.

Once again, now that he has nothing to focus on, the fear comes back. He feels it crawling up his spine and lodge in his throat. The darkness and silence are ready to press in on him—ready to swallow him whole.

No. No, no, _no_!

He won’t focus on that. He needs to be brave.

He’ll think about Steve. He’ll think about the punk coming to get him from wherever they’re taking him. He thinks about his art project, how he wanted to put the pepper in every alternating petal so he could put cornmeal in the other pedals. A nice black pepper and yellow cornmeal flower. He hadn’t really thought about what to put in the center. Maybe some cinnamon? Yeah, that would be nice. He thinks the brown would go well with the yellow and black.

*             *             *

The car eventually stops and the person who had sat beside him the entire ride helps him out of the car and grabs his arm again. Bucky unfolds his cane and they start walking again. He knows they’re outside for the first little while, then the floor and air around him changes and they’re indoors. They keep walking until the hand releases his arm. He stops, wondering what they want him to do next. Then someone grabs his sleeve and tugs him forward a bit more. He shuffles a little further forward, then the hand lets go. He waits, not knowing where they want him to go next.

Nothing happens.

He waits a while longer.

Still nothing happens.

“Uh, do you want me going somewhere, or are we just gonna keep standing here…?”

Of course, he gets no reply. Nobody touches him. Nobody even brushes up against him. Frowning, Bucky turns in a slow circle, using his cane to sweep around himself. There’s nobody close enough to grab him.

That’s a positive sign, but it doesn’t answer any of his other questions.

He stands still for several more minutes, wondering if somebody is coming back to bring him somewhere else.

Still nothing happens.

He moves forward a few steps, rolling his cane side to side. Nobody stops him, so he figures he’s free to move around a bit. He wants to find out where he is—a room, a hallway…?

He wanders until the cane hits a wall. He leans his shoulder against the wall and slowly walks along the wall, trying to map out the size and layout of the area.

He gets to a corner, then the cane smacks into a sturdy thin object. Bucky reaches out and encounters a smooth, heavy surface. It’s a table pushed against the wall. He walks around the table and finds the chair that’s pushed underneath it, then he can use the wall again. He stops and goes back to the chair, pulling it out and leaving it at a slight angle.

He continues walking. He follows the walls, and eventually he gets to a table and a chair again.

The chair’s at an angle. So if that’s the chair he felt before, it means he went in a full circle. A fully enclosed space must mean he’s in a room of some sort.

Maybe some sort of waiting room…? Maybe a doctor’s office? Or maybe they’ve put in a cell?

The room is quite small but larger than any cell he’s ever been in. There’s the table, chair, a bed, a closed door, and another door that opens and leads to a small bathroom. There’s a soap dispenser, a few towels and some unidentifiable bottles in the bathroom and there’s a small stack of bed linens and a pillow sitting on the bed, but the room is otherwise bare.

He goes back to the other door, which must be main door, but the handle doesn’t budge when Bucky tries it. Where ever he is, they’ve locked him in and don’t want him leaving.

He sits on the bare mattress. Within moments of being inactive, he feels the panic returning. The darkness and silence are filled with questions, with danger, a thick nothingness that’s trying to swallow him whole.

There’s a lump in his throat and he wants to curl up and cry. He wouldn’t mind feeling strange hands touch his hand, as long as he’d feel that familiar leather bracelet with the beads and the dots and dashes. Steve would wrap his arms around him, pull him up from the bed and spell H-O-M-E on his hand.

But none of that happens.

He’s alone, locked in a dark, silent room.

Tears well up in his eyes, then he angrily wipes them away and sits up straight. He’d promised Steve he would be brave. This isn’t being brave. He isn’t some little kid. He can take care of himself and keep himself together until Steve comes to get him.

To do that, he needs to stay focused and keep the fear at bay.

To do that, he needs to stay busy.

So he stands up and starts the long, difficult task of making up the bed. It takes forever to do it with one arm—especially because he refuses to put down his cane, so it dangles off his wrist, constantly getting in the way—and he can’t see which way the linens are supposed to go. But he manages. He imagines he’d probably be court martialed if anybody from the military inspected the bed, but it’s the best he can do.

Then he spends time pacing between various points in the room, learning the distances and placements of everything.

He checks the time on his watch. It’s a little after 5 in the afternoon. He hopes they let him keep his watch. His room doesn’t have any windows so he can’t feel the sunshine, and if he’s locked in for days at a time without access to his watch, he won’t be able to keep his 24 hour internal clock on track.

He’s mulling over what else he can do to keep himself entertained—

—when he suddenly feels somebody touch his hand.

The fear and shock nearly make his heart stop and he jerks back from the contact. “What—what do you want?!”

Nothing happens for a few minutes, but Bucky braces himself, knowing some type of contact will be coming. Finally, somebody grabs the sleeve of his jacket.

The touch is hesitant, unsure. Definitely not the same person as before.

Bucky shakes the hand off his sleeve and fumbles to touch the hand and the wrist. No leather bracelet. Definitely not Steve.

He releases the person’s wrist, and the fingers of the strange hand lightly grab his sleeve again. The fingers tighten in the fabric and start pulling him forward.

He debates fighting the person off—but what would that accomplish? If he has any chance of figuring out why he’s here and finding a way to get himself home, he needs to stay polite and cooperative. But that doesn’t mean he’s going to let these people treat him like a child.

“Where are we going? You don’t have to pull me. You can just hold on to my arm and we can walk together.” He bends his arm and holds up his elbow.

He’s surprised when the hesitant fingers release his sleeve and two trembling fingers curl into the crook of his elbow. He feels the person step forward and Bucky walks with them.

He already knows they’re heading to the table before they get there. As they get close, Bucky can smell food. The fingers release his elbow and Bucky feels an object bump into his hip. He touches it—the chair. The person must have pulled out the chair for him.

Bucky has a seat. He shakes the cane’s strap further up his forearm so it stays in place, but he doesn’t want to holster it. He feels around for the cutlery, but right when his hand touches the bottom of something metallic, the object is being pulled away.

A second later, something warm and moist is being pressed against his lips.

He reels back, sputtering. “Hey! What the hell? Stop! Stop, stop, stop!” He reaches up and pushes away the arm that’s way too close to his face.

“Okay, let’s get this straight: I’m not a child and my arm works really good. I ain’t need help feeding myself. Give me the fork. If that’s too dangerous for me to have, then give me a plastic spoon. I don’t care, but I ain’t letting you feed me. Understand?”

The arm had disappeared as soon as Bucky had pushed on it, but the presence next to him hasn’t shifted away.

Bucky sighs softly. He holds up a hand. “Come on. I’m hungry.”

Like before, Bucky’s not actually expecting the person to listen to him. If he’s a prisoner here, he’s going to be ignored, restrained or beaten for being contrary.

So when a fork is pressed into his open hand, he knows he’s definitely not a prisoner. That, and the person with him isn’t a complete asshole.

Bucky takes the fork. “Thank you. You don’t gotta stand so close to me, I promise I ain’t gonna fall over.”

He has no idea if the person steps back or not, but he or she doesn’t touch him again, so Bucky feels safe enough to start eating. Bucky slowly scoops up the various things on his plate and sniffs them. Rice, thick beef stew and some vegetables.

He’s definitely not in a prison.

He eats his dinner, then feels around the plate for a napkin. He doesn’t find one. “Could you grab me some toilet paper from the bathroom? Apparently you people are too cheap for napkins.”

Again, the person with him does exactly as instructed, and Bucky feels a wad of toilet paper being pressed into his hand. He wipes his mouth, then leans back. “Alright, I’m done. Thank you.”

He feels the presence step closer, then a rush of air. When Bucky touches the table top, the tray has disappeared. Bucky stands up and does a quick walk around the room, checking for changes.

He’s alone again. Or if he isn’t, the people in the room with him are actively avoiding him and his cane. He stands in the center of the room and swings the cane around a bit, keeping his movements unpredictable.

He doesn’t hit anybody except the table and the chair, so he tries convincing himself that he’s alone.

Probably.

Hopefully.

He gets back to his bed and feels a set of clothes that his meal-bringer had left behind. He decides to keep his own clothes on—if something happens, he wants to be ready to leave at a moment’s notice.

He sits on the bed and checks the time on his watch. It’s still early, but he should try to get some rest. He doubts he’ll be able to sleep, but he knows he should try. He can’t fully focus if he’s sleep deprived.

The second he puts his head on the thin pillow, he feels the darkness and silence press in on him from all sides and he squeezes his eyes shut.

Oh, he wants to go home.

He wants his comfortable, safe bed with his wall of pillows on one side and his wall of Steve on the other where he can snuggle in the warm, cozy darkness.

Not this cold, crushing darkness that seeps into him from all sides. Plus, anybody could just walk in here at any time and Bucky wouldn’t even know they’re in the room with him until they touch him.

God—anybody could touch him at any point! His skin crawls at the thought, fear prickling through him.

He tries to even out his breathing and think about Steve and other thoughts, but he can’t distract his hyper active brain. He sits up and pulls the blanket over his shoulders. He picks up his cane and keeps his hand wrapped around the handle. He leans against the wall and pulls his knees up to his chest, pressing his forehead against them. It feels a tiny bit better than lying flat on his back, fully exposed, but it’s still terrifying. The blanket is too thin to be a comforting barrier and there’s nothing familiar around him.

He wants to go home.

_Please come get me, Stevie._

_Please._

_I’m scared and I want to go home. Please, please, please hurry up and come get me._

_I’m trying to be brave but it’s too hard. Please come get me._

*             *             *

Steve’s in a state of shock. A part of him still can’t believe that this day actually happened.

Just this morning, Bucky had been out on the balcony working on his art project, and now he’s stuck in some facility, scared and not understanding what had happened. The only positive thing that’s happened over the past few hours is that Steve finally understands why they’d taken Bucky.

At first he’d been terrified that they were taking Bucky to an institution and Steve would never be able to get him out. How ironic—and terrible—it would have been if the two of them had managed to avoid having Steve end up in an institution for twenty years, only for Bucky to be put into one within a few months of being the disabled one?

But thankfully, it turned out that the stupid people weren’t from an institution.

When the intercom started buzzing, Steve had no idea who it could be. Had he ordered something and forgotten? Their next grocery delivery wouldn’t be coming until Tuesday. He didn’t remember ordering anything else.

“Mr. Rogers? This is Paul Dunsfield from Adult Protective Services. Can we come in?”

No part of that sentence made any sense. “I’m sorry, who?”

“Paul Dunsfield from Adult Protective Services.”

“I—we didn’t contact you, sir. I think you have the wrong apartment.”

“We have the correct apartment, Mr. Rogers. We’ve received a complaint and we’re here to investigate it. You can either let us in voluntarily, or we’ll come back with the police.”

_What?_

He watched Bucky sitting out on the balcony on the swing, fiddling with one of his little containers of spices, completely unaware of what was going on.

“Mr. Rogers?”

What the hell—?

“Uh, okay. I guess. Come on up.”

The last thing he needed was having the police barging into the apartment. He pressed the button to let them in, then he hurried to the balcony, his mind racing frantically. How the hell could he explain this to Bucky? _He_ didn’t even know what’s going on, how could he explain to Bucky before they got to the front door?

A terrible thought occurred to him as he hurried to Buck—what if they were from an institution and they were here to take Buck away?

Well, that wasn’t gonna happen. No way.

He grabbed Bucky’s hand and Bucky startled badly.

“Sorry, Buck! Sorry, sorry, sorry. We need to hurry,” he muttered, cleaning off Bucky’s hand so he could explain what was going on. The only word that had popped into his head was ‘Intercom’, so he spelled that out.

There was no way he would spell out ‘institution’. That would terrify Bucky, and Steve didn’t want to upset him any more than necessary, especially with unconfirmed suspicions.

Unsurprisingly spelling the word ‘intercom’ onto Bucky’s palm hadn’t answered Bucky’s questions. He pulled Bucky inside, his mind swirling with a million questions and a knot of fear in his gut.

What was gonna happen? What was Adult Protective Services? What complaint had they received? _What the hell was gonna happen?_

He told Bucky that somebody was coming, but he didn’t want to create more confusion by spelling out Adult Protective Services, so he left that out. He knew Bucky would want to know what they were and why they were coming, and Steve didn’t have those answers at that point. He had no idea if those Protective Services people were associated with an institution or not, so it was best not to tell Bucky any of that.

There were three men at their door. One of them stepped forward and offered Steve his hand. “Mr. Rogers? I’m Paul Dunsfield.” Steve shook his hand out of reflex. “Can we come in?”

Dunsfield was already walking into the apartment anyway, so Steve’s ‘yes, of course’ hadn’t really been necessary. He stepped back and the other two men swept inside.

Immediately, all three of them focused on Bucky on the couch. Bucky was frowning, his face pale with confusion and fear.

“What’s this about, Mr. Dunsfield?” The faster they got to the heart of this situation, the faster they could clear it up and get these people out of their apartment.

Whatever these people wanted, the only way Bucky was going to be taken to an institution was over his dead body.

“We received a complaint from a concerned citizen. This is James Barnes, correct?” Dunsfield asked, stopping a few feet from the couch to stare down at Bucky.

They’d received a complaint? People didn’t normally have to file complaints to get somebody institutionalized. Maybe the rules had changed since then?

“Yeah, that’s him. What’s the complaint?”

Dunsfield looked Bucky over while another man wandered around the living room, peering at everything. The third stayed close to Steve, keeping an eye on him.

“We received a complaint involving allegations of neglect and abuse.”

_What?_

“I’m sorry, allegations of what?”

“Neglect and abuse, Mr. Rogers. Since Mr. Barnes has severe disabilities, we’re taking the complaint very seriously. Due to the nature of the allegations, we’ll have to remove Mr. Barnes from your care immediately.”

Steve felt the floor fall out from beneath his feet. “You— _what?_ ”

Dunsfield pulled out a bundle of papers from his jacket pocket and handed them to Steve. “Everything is in there, Mr. Rogers. We’ll remove Mr. Barnes immediately and move him to an appropriate facility where he can be cared for until our investigation is complete. Once our investigation is complete, we’ll either allow Mr. Barnes to return to your care or we’ll find a permanent care facility for him.”

‘Permanent care facility’ sounded an awful lot like an institution.

But—neglect and abuse?? They weren’t here because of Bucky’s disabilities, they were here because…

…because they thought Steve was hurting Bucky??

“You—you can’t just—”

“We can, Mr. Rogers. If an individual is not competent, APS can legally act on their behalf.”

“What do you mean not competent?”

At that moment Bucky seemed to decide that Steve had been missing from his side for too long and that must mean he was in trouble. He pulled out his cane and brandished it around him. The man who was closest to him took a hasty step back, nearly falling into Bucky’s building block city.

“If you’ve hurt Steve, I’ll kill you! I’m warning you now,” Bucky said. The man who’d stepped back from him wisely chose to stay by the building blocks.

Dunsfield scowled at his assistant. “Remove the weapon from Mr. Barnes, Tyler, before he hurts himself or us. Hurry up.”

Steve stepped forward, alarmed. “Now, hold on a second! You leave his cane alone!”

“We can’t allow—”

“That ain’t a weapon, it’s a part of him. He’s got rights, don’t he?”

Dunsfield hesitated.

Steve grabbed that hesitation as his advantage. “Mr. Dunsfield, the allegations were against me, right? Bucky—James is the victim, right? So he’s got rights that you’ve got to respect. And as a disabled person, he’s got the right to keep the things that help him get around.”

Steve had no idea if that was true or not, but he’d keep saying whatever’s necessary until these assholes let Bucky keep his cane.

The assistant, Tyler, decided to leave Bucky’s cane alone, but grabbed his flailing arm. Steve was about to protest—who the hell did this guy think he was, touching Bucky with no warning—but Bucky beat him to it, snarling at the guy not to touch him and demanding to know what they’d done with Steve.

Steve turned to Dunsfield. “Sir, please. Let me explain the situation to him. If you just grab him and pull him out of here, he won’t understand what’s going on and you won’t be able to explain it to him. He’ll be scared and he’ll fight you and that’ll make this whole thing worse. He’s the victim here, right? You don’t wanna upset him, do you?”

Dunsfield made a face, looking torn about the unusual situation. “Fine. You can sign to him from where you are.”

Steve barely restrained himself from laughing at the idiot. “Sign from—Sir, he’s blind. I can’t sign to him from across the room.”

Dunsfield sighed heavily, clearly annoyed. “I can’t permit you to have physical contact with him.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to bend those rules because physical contact is the only way to communicate with him. He’s completely blind and completely deaf, sir.”

“He doesn’t have a hearing aid?”

Steve blinked. Stay polite. Stay polite. Stay polite. “No. No, a hearing aid wouldn’t help. He’s completely deaf. The only way to communicate with him is with physical contact. You can keep an eye on me the entire time. If it looks like I’m about to hurt him, you can intervene. Please, sir. He deserves to know what’s going on.”

Dunsfield glared at him. “I can’t permit the alleged abuser to have contact with the victim, Mr. Rogers.”

At that point, Steve really started losing his temper. “Well then you’re gonna have to get somebody over here that knows the manual alphabet so they can explain the situation to James. You can’t just grab him and pull him out of this apartment.”

Dunsfield took out a notebook. “Which alphabet did you say?”

“It’s called the deafblind manual alphabet.” Steve waited to see the man writing it into his notebook, but the pen didn’t move. Apparently this information wasn’t important enough to be written down.

Finally, Dunsfield pursed his lips and gestured for Steve to come forward. “Provide him with a quick explanation that we’ll be removing him for his own safety and that we’ll be investigating the allegations of abuse.”

“Okay.” Steve stepped up to Bucky. He had no intention of telling Bucky about the ridiculous abuse allegations. He didn’t want him getting any angrier than he already was. He gently pulled the cane from Bucky’s grip, folded it up and put it into Bucky’s holster.

As he predicted, Bucky relaxed as soon as he touched the leather bracelets on Steve’s wrists. Bucky started peppering him with questions. Steve’s mind raced, trying to choose the most important things to communicate to him.

He settled on telling him that he needed to be brave and that Steve would come get him. He kissed his palm and his cheeks, his heart squeezing painfully at Bucky’s barrage of confused, upset questions demanding more details.

Steve could hear Dunsfield warning him not to kiss Bucky again, but he ignored him.

He told Bucky he loved him and pulled him to his feet. His mind screamed at him— _Don’t let them take him! Don’t let them take him!_ —but he ignored it. They didn’t have a choice about this.

Steve could probably make a successful run for it, but he knew Bucky wouldn’t be able to keep up. And that made the whole idea pointless.

Bucky still looked panicked and upset, and he was in no mood to be grabbed by strange hands, so when Tyler stepped close again, Bucky snapped at him to stay away and leaned closer to Steve.

Steve’s heart ached and his throat clogged with tears. He’d started crying at some point. He wanted to bundle Bucky up and go somewhere far, far away where no strangers would touch either of them or threaten to take Bucky away to a strange place.

But Steve knew the last thing Bucky needed was to live a life on the run. It was stressful enough doing that when Bucky had all his senses intact. It wasn’t a decent life then, and it would be a million times worse in their current situation.

Steve pressed his forehead against Bucky’s. “You have to be brave. Please, Buck, you have to be brave and I promise I’ll come get you,” he murmured and kissed Bucky’s cheek.

He opened Bucky’s palm again and told him that he’d come get him and Bucky needed to be good.

Dunsfield instructed Tyler to remove Bucky’s motion sensor. Bucky wasn’t happy with the touch, especially once he realized the motion sensor was being removed. “What are you doing?” he snapped, angry and annoyed.

Steve put his hand right below Tyler’s, trying to calm him. He kissed Bucky’s cheek again.

Bucky frowned. “Why are you crying, Stevie? What’s wrong?”

Steve sighed at himself. He hadn’t wanted Bucky to realize he’s upset. He wanted Bucky to stay focused on himself so he could cope with whatever was gonna happen. That’s when he told Bucky that he had to go with the people.

Predictably, Bucky was outraged at first—this whole thing was a hundred times more confusing for him than for Steve—but as Steve repeated his instructions, Bucky seemed to resign himself to whatever was happening. “Okay, I’ll go. You’ll come get me?”

“Of course I will, Buck,” Steve choked out, frantically tapping the back of Bucky’s hand.

“Promise?”

“Yes, I promise. I swear on ma’s grave I’ll come get you.” He tapped several times on Bucky’s hand, then kissed Bucky’s face and his palm.

“Okay. Okay, I’ll go.”

He reminded Bucky to be good. He didn’t want these people taking things away from Bucky or restraining him if they thought he was a threat.

“I will. I promise.”

“Please be brave, Buck. I know you can do this.” He said, telling Bucky to be brave on his hand.

“Don’t worry, Rogers. I got this,” he said.

“Alright, it’s time to go. Mr. Rogers, step away from Mr. Barnes.”

Steve glared up at the man. “I need to help him put on his shoes, or are you gonna make him walk out of here in his slippers?”

Dunsfield made a face. “Get on with it.”

Steve helped Bucky into his shoes, then put a jacket on him. He hoped Bucky wouldn’t need it, but maybe they only had thin blankets in whatever stupid facility they were bringing Bucky to.

Tyler stepped forward and grabbed Bucky’s arm again and started pulling him forward.

Both Steve and Bucky protested at the same time. “He can walk just fine on his own! Don’t pull on him like that. Let him use his cane.”

Steve was so focused on his anger that he didn’t really register that Bucky was gone until the door shut behind him. Tyler and the other man had gone with him and Steve was left with Dunsfield.

He wanted to strangle the man and throw his body off the balcony.

But that wouldn’t help get Bucky back any quicker. Steve needed to be polite and cooperative and get this ridiculous situation dealt with as soon as possible so Bucky could come back home.

“Would you like to sit down, Mr. Dunsfield?” he said, gesturing at the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t want to paint APS in a bad light, despite what happens in this chapter. APS/CPS (child protective services) workers do very important work and help thousands of people every year who are living in abusive/neglectful situations. In this situation, they’re just doing their jobs. You also shouldn’t blame the confused soul who made the complaint—he/she genuinely thought they were protecting Bucky. APS/CPS deal with situations just like this every single day and it’s difficult for everyone involved. APS/CPS’s top priority is to protect the victim and their next priority is figuring out what’s going on.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll now learn what Steve's being accused of and the boys spend their first night apart since the hospital.

“Would you like to sit down, Mr. Dunsfield?” Steve said, gesturing at the table.

“Thank you.” Dunsfield sat down and pulled out another notebook and a folder. Seeing the man sitting at their table created a sour taste in the back of Steve’s throat but he kept his ‘Captain America’ smile pasted on his face.

Dunsfield sorted through his papers.

“Would you like something to drink, sir?”

“No, thank you. Please have a seat, Mr. Rogers and keep your hands on the table at all times.”

Jesus Christ. Steve did as he was told.

Dunsfield spent some time taking notes. Steve cleared his throat. “Sir? Do you have somebody at your facility who knows the manual alphabet?”

Dunsfield gave him a bland look. “You don’t need to concern yourself about that. We’re going to provide Mr. Barnes with the care he requires.”

“Right.”

The idiot better make sure they provide Bucky with the care he requires, or Adult Protective Services won’t be dealing with Captain America anymore—they’d be dealing with Steven Grant Rogers.

Dunsfield was finally ready and he folded his hands over the folder and stared at Steve. “Alright, this is what’s going to happen, Mr. Rogers. I’m going to inform you of the allegations made against you, I’ll interview you and inspect your home. We’ll also interview Mr. Barnes and then determine whether he’s mentally competent to make his own decisions, or whether we have to make decisions for him. If he is competent, he’ll be given a choice whether to take advantage of our services or not. If we are taking over legal responsibility for his welfare, the findings of our investigation will inform our final decision on Mr. Barnes’ future care.”

Steve stared at him. Mentally competent? Do these idiots think Bucky got a lobotomy? “Mr. Dunsfield, Bucky is completely competent. There’s nothing wrong with his brai—”

“Your opinion on that matter is irrelevant. Professionals will be consulted and their opinion is the only one that will be taken into account. You need to focus on answering my questions.”

Asshole. “Yes, sir.”

“Do you and Mr. Barnes engage in sexual activities?”

_What?_

Steve gaped at him. “How is that any of your business?”

“One of the allegations against you is that you have been sexually abusing Mr. Barnes.”

“What—what does that even mean?”

“It means we believe you have been forcing Mr. Barnes to engage in sexual activities when he is not able to properly consent to such activities.”

Steve blinked. “Sir, I have never, ever forced Bucky to do anything he doesn’t want to do in bed. Ever. And I never will. I don’t understand where this whole consent or competence thing came from. He’s a hundred percent capable of making decisions for himself. He’s deafblind, not mentally—uh--challenged.”

He hoped he’d used the right term. He knew they weren’t supposed to use the term ‘retarded’ anymore. He got a stern talking to from Natasha a few weeks ago when he used that word during one of their chats. On the other hand, calling somebody a ‘moron’ these days wasn’t offensive, which makes the whole thing very confusing. He made sure to pass on his new found knowledge to Bucky after his conversation. Bucky thought the whole thing was ridiculous, but he agreed not to use either word, just in case.

“When did you begin having intimate relations with Mr. Barnes?”

He wanted to snap that it was none of the guy’s business, but he started to understand that the man was completely serious and if Steve didn’t cooperate, this asshole had the authority to lock Bucky away and claim he was doing it for Bucky’s own good.

“Many years ago. We’ve known each other since childhood. We’ve been making time—uh—been intimate with each since we were teenagers. After Bucky’s release from prison, we picked up where we left off.”

“So the intimate nature of your relationship is not a result of Mr. Barnes’ handicap?”

 _What_? What kind of disgusting people has this man met? “No, sir. If I thought Bucky couldn’t properly consent or didn’t want to do something, then I wouldn’t push him. He’s the one who re-initiated that part of our relationship.”

“You believe he initiated it, even though you brought him to live in your apartment and he sleeps in your bed?”

“I—You think Bucky feels— _obligated_ to sleep with me? That’s ridicu—” He could feel his temper starting to flare up and forced himself to stay calm. “That’s _not_ true. I swear to you, I’ve never touched him against his will. Even now that physical touch is pretty much a requirement for communicating, if he doesn’t want me touching him, I don’t.”

Dunsfield took notes. “The other complaint we received has to do with neglect.”

Steve frowned. “Neglect? I don’t understand. I’m with him practically every second of every day.”

“We had reports that you keep Mr. Barnes locked out on the balcony for several hours each day, regardless of the weather.”

That was the point when Steve started to put the picture together.

A nosy neighbor across the street with a view of their apartment must have seen Bucky on the balcony. Steve supposed that somebody watching Bucky slowly doing his art might get the mistaken impression that Bucky was mentally challenged. If they made that assumption, then seeing Steve’s displays of affection towards Bucky might seem problematic.

But that didn’t excuse the concerned citizen from adding incorrect embellishments to make their complaint sound more serious. “Who made the complaint?”

Dunsfield didn’t looked up from his notes. “We keep the identities of complainants confidential. Please stay on topic.”

Fine.

“First of all, the balcony door is never locked. If it’s really windy, we don’t keep it wide open, but it’s always open enough so I can hear Buck when he calls for me. Second, it’s Bucky who wants to be outside. He—he had a real tough time when he first came home and he didn’t like the silence in the apartment. He likes being able to feel and smell the weather. The wind and the sun and the rain. He says it gives his working senses something to focus on. We’ve been working on having him spend more time inside because winter’s gonna come. I’d be happy to put a million heaters out there for him, but it won’t be ideal. But believe me, it’s his choice to be out there. I don’t force him out there and that door is never locked.”

Dunsfield made more notes. “So if Mr. Barnes expressed his desire to remain indoors, you would have no problem permitting that?”

Steve was getting exhausted of this whole ridiculousness. He ground his teeth together and forced a polite smile onto his face. “No, I wouldn’t have a problem with that. He goes in and out whenever he wants. He’s not a kid.”

“And if the weather is not appropriate, what level of force would you utilize to make him remain indoors?”

That felt like a trick question. “Like I said, it’s Buck’s choice whether he wants to be inside or outside. When it’s really gross outside then he stays inside. He’s not an idiot. He’s not gonna sit out there getting completely drenched or freezing to death, but if he wants to go out for a few minutes, it’s a free country. I’d want him to mop up the floor if he brings a rain cloud in with him, but he’s _not_ a kid. Going outside is his choice.”

Dunsfield wrote some more in his notebook. “Alright, now I’d like to take a look around the apartment. Do you consent to the inspection?”

He barely restrained himself from letting out an annoyed snort. He knew he didn’t have a choice. “Yes, I do.”

“Remain seated and keep your hands on the table.”

Dunsfield picked up his papers and started wandering around.

Steve wasn’t worried. Everything was neat and tidy. Both Steve and Bucky had become accustomed to keeping things in their place and cleaning things up right away. It made it easier for Bucky to be independent and led to less tripping and ‘pepper incidents’.

Dunsfield inspected every room and spent extra time on the balcony. He wrote in his notebook, then returned to the table. “Alright, that’ll be all for now.”

“What happens now?”

“We’re going to interview Mr. Barnes and have his competence assessed by a therapist. The results of those assessments will dictate the next steps.”

“So somebody’s interviewing Bucky now?”

Dunsfield gave him another bland look. “We’ll interview Mr. Barnes when the time is appropriate. We aren’t obligated to share the details with you.”

Dread settled in Steve’s stomach. Not for himself, but for Bucky. “So you can just keep him in that facility until you decide it’s time to interview him?”

“Again, the details of our procedures aren’t something that we need to share you, Mr. Rogers. We’re finished here. Please keep your phone nearby so we can contact you if we have any further questions.”

With that, Dunsfield gathered up all of his things and swept out the door, shutting it behind him.

Now Steve is left sitting at the table, alone and numb with shock. “You—you can’t just keep him there. He doesn’t know what’s going on—” he mumbles. He realizes he’s talking to an empty room.

For a moment, he gets the ridiculous urge to turn around and ask Bucky what the hell they should do. And of course, that’s the problem.

Bucky’s alone in some facility, probably scared out of his mind. All he has with him is his cane and his watch. He has nobody to explain things to him, nobody to help him move around.

Steve needs to get him out of there as soon as possible, but for the first time in his life, he has no idea what the next step is.

Well, the second time. The first time had been when he’d sat in an empty, bombed out bar, mourning Bucky’s death.

He desperately wished Bucky would suddenly appear and tell him what to do—and it’s as useless now as it was then. Well—if Buck can’t tell him what to do, then maybe Natasha can help.

Steve gets up, grabs his cellphone and presses Natasha’s contact button. While it rings, his numb legs give out on him and he just barely manages to land on the couch.

“Hi, stranger. What’s going on? Do you still need the cheat sheets for the alphabet?” Her voice is friendly, teasing.

“He—they took him, Nat. They took him to a facility.”

A pause. Then: “What? They took Bucky? Who? Where?”

“Paul Dunsfield. Adult Protective Services. They took him to some facility because they think I’m hurting him.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Somebody—somebody complained. They said I do awful things to Bucky and three men came and they made Buck go with them. They’re keeping him in some facility.”

“How long are they keeping him there?”

Steve takes a shuddering breath. He can feel tears welling up in his eyes. He’s so scared for Bucky that his heart is aching in his chest. “I—I don’t know. They say they have to interview him but they’re gonna need to find somebody who can talk to him properly and who knows how long that’ll take, and until then, he’s alone and scared and he has no idea what’s going on.”

Natasha is silent for a moment while she thinks. “Steve, we’ve got two options. Either we break him out and you two disappear. Or I can call in some favors and get lawyers to encourage them to hurry the hell up. What do you wanna do?”

“I—we can’t run, Nat. That’s not—Buck can’t do that. Not in his condition. He needs to come home.”

“Okay. You sit tight. Don’t go anywhere and don’t do anything dumb. I’ll call my contacts and see what we have to do. Don’t go anywhere. Do you hear me, Rogers? Stay put.”

Steve doesn’t think he could get off the couch if somebody holds a gun to his head. “Yeah, I heard you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Natasha hangs up so she can call her contacts, so Steve is left sitting here, the phone clutched in his hands. He’s having trouble breathing. He remembers feeling like this right before he’d have an asthma attack—but he knows it can’t be an asthma attack.

Looks like he’s having a panic attack instead.

He stares at the phone in his hands. Obviously he can’t call Buck and Natasha is busy trying to help Buck.

There’s only one other person listed in his phone who Steve would want to call. Without stopping to think about it, he presses Sam’s contact button.

The phone only rings twice, and then Sam’s voice comes through. “Hello?”

Steve opens his mouth to say hi and instead, a hiccupping sob comes out instead. He’s still struggling to breathe, so words aren’t his mouth’s priority.

“Hello? Steve? Are you okay? You don’t sound good. Do you need me to call for help? Can you press a button on your phone? Press a button and I’ll call somebody for help.”

Steve presses the phone hard against his ear and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to calm himself down.

Oh, how he loves this wonderful man. He hasn’t been keeping in touch with Sam as much as Sam wants him to and he knows he hasn’t been a good friend lately, but here he is, freaking out and calling the man while completely hysterical, and Sam just goes right along with it. “I—I—Sam I can’t—I can’t breathe.”

“Do you need me to call 911? Yes or no.”

“No—no, it’s—I think—I think I’m just panicking.”

“Alright. Put your phone on speaker so your hands are free. Put the phone down next to you.”

Steve struggles to obey—his hands are shaking and he can’t seem to keep his eyes focused on the phone’s screen, but he manages to put it on speaker and puts it down on the arm rest.

“You need to slow your breathing. Try breathing in for five slow seconds, then hold it for five slow seconds before letting it out. It’s gonna be tough, but really try. I’ll count.”

So together they spend several agonizing minutes helping Steve get control back over his breathing.

Once he’s no longer hyperventilating, Sam talks him through the steps required to get himself a glass of water—Steve’s having way too much trouble remembering how to do things like that right now—and having him drink the whole thing in slow, even sips.

When Steve declares that he feels as good as he’s going to get, Sam asks him what’s going on. That’s when it all comes flooding back.

Jesus Christ, Steve’s almost forgotten about Buck while he was busy panicking. He stumbles through the facts of the day, explaining about Buck being taken away, why he was taken, and the fact that the whole thing is out of Steve’s hands.

Sam listens, only interrupting to ask questions when Steve stumbles over things. “So Natasha is getting her people involved?”

“Yeah. Yeah, she is. That’s—that’s the best we can do right now. We can’t run. We can’t—Buck can’t do that in his condition.”

“No, no, he can’t. You made a good decision staying put, Steve. I know it doesn’t seem like it right now, but you haven’t done anything wrong and once APS realizes that the accusations are bullshit, they’ll let Bucky come home.”

“But when? He can’t—he’s alone and he doesn’t know why they’ve taken him and he doesn’t like being in strange places. He doesn’t like the dark and the silence—they’re the bad kind of dark and silence. There’s the nice, cozy kind and there’s the bad kind and—”

“Steve, take a breath. I know things are really tough for Bucky right now, and that means things are tough for you, but you have to try to stay calm. You gotta stay focused and be ready to answer your phone when Natasha or APS call, right?”

“When are they gonna call?” It never occurs to him that Sam wouldn’t know the answer to that question.

“You know Natasha will get her people on this as fast as possible. She’ll get the ball rolling—it’s probably already rolling—and she’ll get Bucky back home as soon as possible.”

“But—but he needs to be home now. He can’t sleep if he doesn’t know that nobody’s gonna come in when he’s sleeping.”

Sam sighs softly. “He’s tough, Steve. You know that. He’s tougher than both of us put together. He’s lived through so much worse than this. He’ll get through it, you know he will. He needs you to stay calm and focused so you can go get him as soon as they call you.”

Steve’s nodding. “Yeah. But—I don’t want him to be scared, Sam. I can’t help him from here.”

“I know. And that sucks and APS sucks and everything about this situation sucks, but he’ll get through it, Steve. You both will.”

“But he can’t sleep when he doesn’t know that nobody’s gonna come in.”

Steve’s mind keeps whirling in a strange circle for a while. He understands what Sam’s saying, and he knows that pointing out the same issues won’t get him a different answer, but his mind keeps bringing up the same things over and over.

Sam is his wonderful, amazing self and repeats his calm, reassuring answers as many times as Steve needs him to. Eventually Steve’s brain exhausts itself, and he falls silent. That’s when Sam encourages him to try to get some rest so he won’t be completely dead on his feet tomorrow.

“Bucky’s depending on you to stay focused, Steve. If you let yourself get into a complete panic, you might end up hurting yourself or passing out, and that’s not gonna help Bucky, right?”

Once he hangs up the phone, he decides to follow Sam’s advice and get some rest. He tries going into the bedroom, but as soon as he sees their bed, he spins around and heads back to the couch.

He can’t sleep on their bed with Bucky’s empty nest of pillows.

So he lies down on the couch, staring up at the ceiling, his stomach in anxious knots. He knows Bucky probably can’t sleep either. He knows he’s probably scared and tense, not able to stop his brain from obsessively listening and looking for dangers.

He knows neither of them will get much sleep tonight.

*             *             *

Bucky doesn’t manage more than light dozing that night. He’s exhausted, but he can’t sleep in a strange place. This isn’t the friendly, cozy darkness he’s gotten to know at home. This darkness is terrifying and cold.

His senses are on high alert, his ears and eyes straining to detect anything in the room. He’s terrified that somebody will come into his room. Somebody could come in at any second and grab him or hurt him or drag him somewhere else.

He’s trembling with fear and can’t stop the tears that are streaming down his face.

_Please come get me, Stevie._

_Please._

_I tried being brave, but this is too hard._

_I wanna go home._

*             *             *

“Buck, please hang on. I’ll come get you, I promise. I know you’re being as brave as you can and I know you’re scared. I’ll come get you, I promise.”

*             *             *

Bucky touches his watch for the hundredth time that night. Once it’s six o’clock, he figures he’s spent enough time sitting on the bed and pretending to sleep.

Telling himself it’s day time now helps makes the darkness less threatening. It’s stupid, but it fools his brain enough to make the rampant fear calm.

He carefully makes his bed as neatly as he can, killing time and then he makes his way to the bathroom. He drinks from the faucet and uses the toilet. He’d really like to have a shower, but he doesn’t dare put himself into such a vulnerable situation while anybody could come barging in. He does find a toothbrush and toothpaste so he can brush his teeth.

He entertains himself by doing more circuits around the room. Eventually, he detects a strong food scent in the room.

Definitely eggs and bacon.

The thought of food is immediately overridden by that terrifying feeling that he _knows_ somebody had walked into the room and he hadn’t know they were there.

They could have walked in while he was sitting on the bed. They could have sat there and stared at him for hours. A shudder runs down his back. He wants to go home so desperately that his stomach aches.

But he has to focus. First he has to eat something. He needs to keep up his strength so he has the energy to focus properly.

Second, he has to work on figuring out why he’s here and what he has to do to get himself back home. Steve is no doubt working on bringing him home, but if Bucky can do anything to speed up the process, he’ll do it.

“Good morning,” Bucky says, hoping he sounds polite. Whatever these people want, he doesn’t want them accusing him of being uncooperative. He’d promised Steve he’d be good.

Maybe if he stays nice and polite, they’ll let Steve visit. Or maybe they’ll feel inclined to provide an explanation for why they’ve locked him up.

He gets up and makes his way to the table. He has a seat and feels for the cutlery. Unlike yesterday, the person doesn’t interfere. Bucky still has no idea if it’s the same person from yesterday.

“Thanks for bringing breakfast. It smells really good.” Bucky carefully picks up the fork and pokes around on his plate, smelling everything and figuring out what and where everything is, then digs in.

After a few mouthfuls, he swallows and glances to his side where he knows his buddy is standing. “Did you happen to bring something to drink?”

Moments later, he feels a wet, cold surface being nudged against his hand. He fumbles to drop his fork and grab the offered glass. “Thank you.” He sniffs it. Orange juice. He takes a sip, then carefully puts the glass back down.

“By the way, it would be easier if you tell me yes or no before you hand me things. It’s just a surprise, you see, and I might drop the thing you’re trying to hand me. You can tap me on the back of the hand for yes, or rub the back of my hand for no. Is that okay? You don’t gotta do it if you ain’t comfortable.”

He feels a hesitant tap on his hand. “That’s great! Thanks, buddy.”

He finishes eating. To his surprise, he feels a napkin being pushed into his hand. That’s nice. “Thanks!”

He turns in his chair and smiles politely. “Hey, I don’t even know your name. If you’re comfortable, can you write your name on my palm? Nice, slow capital letters.”

Steve has tried doing letter spelling instead of Morse code when he’d realized how much Bucky had struggled with using Morse code, but it was just as difficult as code. Too many letters felt similar to each other, and doing the multiple lines took just as long as code, but if he can gain more intel about his current situation, he’ll put up with stupid letter spelling. Besides, if he knows the guy’s name, he might be able to get more information out of him. People like having their names used.

He holds out his palm. There’s a hesitation, then a few shaky lines are drawn. Bucky has no idea what letter it was. “That’s great. Press a little harder and do it again until I can figure out what letter it is. One letter at a time.”

The tracing is a bit firmer and the lines are repeated over and over until Bucky figures out it’s a T.

They move slowly through each letter. His name has six letters and thankfully, it has a lot of repeat letters so it’s not as difficult as it could be.

Terell.

“Hi, Terell. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Bucky.” He turns his hand and holds it out for a shake. Terell’s grip is a bit hesitant still, but he seems to be getting more confident.

Bucky has no idea if the guy fears him or if he’s just new at his job, but he seems to be getting better. “Terell, do you know why I’m here?”

No response. Bucky pulls out what he knows is his winning smile. “Come on, buddy. I won’t tell that you told me. Do you know why they took me away from home?”

Terell slowly pulls his hand out of Bucky’s loose grip, then there’s a very hesitant tap on the back of his hand.

Bucky smiles. They’re getting somewhere.

Maybe.

Terell puts his hand back into Bucky’s, since Bucky’s not paying attention and has kept his hand extended. He loosely holds on to Terell’s hand. He actually doesn’t mind the contact—he’ll be able to feel Terell’s reactions to his questions before he answers them. “Okay. Is this some kind of prison?”

Bucky feels Terell tense, then he’s frantically rubbing Bucky’s hand.

“Am I in trouble? Is that why they’re keeping me here? Did I do something wrong?”

More frantic rubbing.

Okay. He mulls it over. So they didn’t take him away because he did something wrong. They’re making sure that all of his basic needs are being taken care of. So they want him to stay healthy and he’s not in trouble.

So that just leaves—

“Is Steve in trouble?”

No response. He probably doesn’t know who Steve is. “The man I live with. Is he in trouble? Did he do something wrong?”

He can feel Terell’s hand jerking as if he’s moving to respond, but he stops himself. That answers Bucky’s question, but he wants to try to get actual confirmation.

He smiles. “Come on, Terell. I won’t tell, I promise. I’m just curious. They didn’t tell me anything, they just locked me up in here. That’s not right, is it?”

Terell rubs his hand.

“No, it ain’t right. So I’m just trying to put things together. Somebody who ain’t a cripple like me, they’d know what’s going on, right? It ain’t fair that I don’t know just because I can’t hear and I can’t see.”

He’s hoping he’s successfully tugging on the guy’s heart strings. He lets that sink in. Then: “So, is Steve in trouble? Did he do something wrong?”

A hesitant tap.

Bucky keeps smiling. “Thanks for talking to me, Terell. You’re great. And thanks for breakfast. Are you gonna be back for lunch?”

A confident tap.

“Great! Well, I’ll see you then,” Bucky gets up and keeps a hand on the crook of Terell’s arm, helping him collect the tray and escorting him to the door as if Terell was his date for the evening.

Bucky can be a damn polite gentleman when he wants to be. He waits until the door has clicked shut behind Terell, then he lets the sugary smile slide off his face.

They think Steve did something wrong. The only reason they’d take him away from Steve if they think Steve did something wrong is for his protection. Maybe they think Steve took too long finding the special alphabet?

But no, that’s stupid. How on earth would anybody know such things?

He spends time mulling it over, trying to come up with some explanation, but when lunch rolls around and he still isn’t any clearer on the situation, he starts to get mad. He’s been nothing but cooperative and polite, and he’s been here for—he checks—about sixteen hours and he hasn’t been given any explanation for why he’s here and how long he’ll have to stay.

And if he’s not in trouble, that means he has rights, doesn’t it?

He waits until he’s finished lunch and has used the napkin Terell has handed him. “That was great, Terell. Really yummy.”

He puts down the napkin and turns to face Terell. He takes the smile off his face and makes sure he looks serious. “Now, I want you to go and find me your supervisor, please. Tell him or her that I want to speak with them right now. If your supervisor doesn’t wanna come, tell him or her that I have very important friends who can make their life very difficult. I just want a short meeting, that’s all.”

He actually doesn’t have such friends and he has no idea if Steve has any such connections anymore, but he’s hoping the threat will be enough.

Terell has frozen beside him. Bucky shoots him his best smile. “Don’t worry, buddy. It’s got nothing to do with you. You’re doing a great job. I just don’t think it’s right that I’ve been here for this long without knowing why I’m here. So please get me your supervisor.”

There’s a tap on his hand, then Terell disappears. He left in such a hurry that he left the lunch tray behind. Bucky sweeps the plate with the fork and licks off the remaining pasta sauce that clings to the tines.

He’s startled by somebody touching his hand. Out of habit, his fingers trace the stranger’s wrist.

No leather bracelet. It’s expected, but still a let-down. He doesn’t let himself dwell on that. Focus, Barnes. “Is this Terell?”

The hand leaves his arm, but nothing else happens. Not Terell. Okay, so this must be somebody else. Hopefully Terell had done as he’d asked and brought a supervisor.

“I’m gonna assume you’re the supervisor around here. I have a complaint to make. I’ve been here for nearly a full day and I haven’t been given any explanation for why I’ve been taken from my home without my consent. I know I haven’t done anything wrong and I know I have rights. You are going to tell me exactly why I’m here and what I can do to get released. To do that, you’re gonna go find somebody who knows the alphabet for deafblind people so I can speak to them. You’re gonna go and do that right now or I’m gonna let everybody know how you’ve been trampling on my rights and making life difficult for a confused, innocent deafblind person.”

He figures the person is probably responding, arguing, pleading or explaining. Bucky couldn’t care less.

“In case you’re trying to talk to me, let me remind you: I can’t understand what you’re saying. That’s why you’re gonna stop wasting my time and you’re gonna go find somebody who can talk to me properly.”

Hopefully that’ll get things moving along. He hates the idea that he’ll have to spend another night in this place.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's time to see how APS deals with Bucky's threat...

Prabhjot is in the middle of an interpretation when she feels her cell phone vibrate with a missed call. It happens twice more before the session is finished.

“Thank you so much for your time, Dr. Kapur.”

She smiles and shakes the man’s hand. “You’re welcome.”

She turns to the other participant, who signs her thanks. Prabhjot signs back, letting her know she’s very welcome and to call her anytime she needs more help.

Then she checks her phone. Three missed calls, two voice mails and five text messages. Dialing into her voice mail, she listens to the frantic message.

“Prabhjot, it’s Kathy Cho from APS. We have a deafblind client who’s in our temp housing unit. He—he has no sight and no hearing so we can’t communicate with him. He’s getting really upset about the situation because we can’t explain why he’s here, and we just had a call from his two lawyers and they’re threatening to sue our asses off if we don’t find him communication assistance. I know you’re super busy this week, but I’ll take you out for dinner twice—any restaurant you want, I’m paying—if you can please help us out.”

Prabhjot erases the messages and presses Kathy’s contact button as she heads out of the building. Kathy picks up on the first ring. “Please tell me you’re on your way.”

“I’m coming, don’t worry. Why didn’t you call me last night? The poor man’s probably scared out of his mind.”

“I had no idea he’s deafblind. Paul left that out of his case summary. We were slammed last night so I didn’t have time to look over his whole file until he started making threats.”

Prabhjot frowns, pressing the phone between her head and shoulder as she unlocks her car and gets inside. “He threatened you?”

“Well, he threatened to bring lawyers, and then ten minutes later, his lawyers called.”

“I’m on my way. Just hang tight. But I will hold you to those dinners.”

She hears Kathy let out a relieved laugh. “Any restaurant, I promise. Just please get here.”

*             *             *

Prabhjot takes the file from Kathy as soon as she’s in the door, but doesn’t open it. She likes to meet the client first and form a first opinion before reading the details.

Especially one of Paul’s files. The man either leaves way too many details out, or he colors the entire thing with his own opinions and biases.

“What communication tool does he use?”

“You won’t believe this, but Paul didn’t bother writing anything about his communication methods in his files. I called Paul this morning and he says he uses some kind of alphabet?”

“What room’s he in?”

“24.”

“Okay. Please keep everybody out for the time being.”

She finds Room 24 and grabs one of the visitor chairs propped beside the locked door. Terell has been hurrying after her and he steps around her to unlock the door.

“You’ve been spending time with him, Terell?”

Terell nods. “Yeah. He’s—”

Prabhjot holds up a hand. “Not yet, Terell. Let me talk to him first, then I’ll get your opinion.”

She heads inside and lets the door shut behind her.

The man is sitting on the chair by the table. He’s positioned the chair so he’s facing the door, but his face doesn’t change to indicate that he knows anyone has entered the room.

She notices he's missing his left arm and his jacket sleeve has been cut off and neatly sewn up. In her experience, if somebody has permanently altered their clothing like this, it means they don't usually use a prosthetic. It's not unusual for upper arm amputees to not use a prosthetic, especially for people who have vision problems.

She finds it curious that Kathy hadn't mentioned the fact that he's an amputee. She's wondering how long he's been missing his arm and how it impacts the fact that he's deafblind. She hasn't ever met someone deafblind who was an amputee. But right now, that's not important.

She approaches him and gently touches his shoulder—standard practice when approaching somebody blind or deafblind—and keeps her hand there so he will notice that there’s a new presence in the room with him.

He startles a bit—his arm tenses and there’s a sharp intake of breath, and he frowns, clearly unhappy with the touch. He shifts, and shoves her hand off his shoulder. “Don’t touch my shoulder! You can touch my hand, but I ain’t give you permission to touch my shoulder.”

*             *             *

When the unexpected touch comes, fear is the first emotion that runs through him, but there’s also annoyance. Terell had done a great job touching his hand to initiate contact with him, and Bucky doesn’t think he’d change his routine like this, so this must be a new person.

A new, rude person.

“I know you ain’t Terell. I don’t know if you’re the person from before, but I’m warning you—I’m in a pretty nasty mood by now, so if you can’t communicate with me properly, get out and find somebody who can. I’m getting sick of saying the same thing over and over.”

The mystery person gently touches his hand. The touch is light and seems apologetic. He guesses it’s a woman, based on the slim hand.

“Do you know how to talk to me? Tap my hand for yes.”

Tap, tap, tap.

A sense of relief floods through him. Oh, thank God!

He turns his hand over, holding up his palm so she can start to spell. But instead of spelling anything, she turns his hand over and folds it over her closed fist.

He frowns. What the hell is she doing?

Her hand starts moving rapidly beneath his grasp. What the hell??

Bucky pulls his hand off hers. “Listen, lady. I don’t know what you’re doing, but this ain’t funny. I told you: I want you to find somebody who can do the deafblind manual alphabet so I can talk to them. I’ve got rights, don’t I?”

He feels her hand touch his again, and this time, she smoothes out his palm, a clear sign that she’s going to spell on his palm. Finally!

But instead of the familiar symbols, she starts to draw individual lines. It takes Bucky a few seconds to realize that she’s writing capital letters, not using the normal symbols.

He struggles to suppress a sigh. Apparently nobody around here knows the manual alphabet and he’s going to be stuck trying to decipher the stupid capital letters.

Fine. If it’ll get him out of here, he’ll do it. “If you’re trying to write letters on my palm, you gotta do it slower. That ain’t how the manual alphabet works, so I ain’t used to it.”

She slows her writing, and Bucky can eventually tell that she’s trying to write ‘H-E-L-L-O’ on his palm.

“Hello? That’s what you’re trying to say?”

Tap.

“Okay, we’re getting somewhere. For future, if you wanna say ‘no’, just rub the back of my hand.”

Taking a deep breath, he sits up straight and puts on a polite smile. “Alright, let’s start over. My name’s James Barnes.”

She spells her first name. He frowns, trying to follow the letters. “Again, please. Slower.”

She spells her name two more times. It’s not a name he’s familiar with and it takes him a second to put the letters together in his head.

“Prab?” he asks.

Tap.

“So, Prab. Please tell me why I’m here. Terell told me I’m not in trouble and this isn’t a prison.”

Rub, rub, rub.

“Yeah, I know this ain’t a prison. The food’s too good and the bed’s too comfortable.”

H-A.

H-A.

H-A.

He grins. Well, that’s adorable. He’s never had somebody laugh on his palm before. “That’s a good one. Usually Steve doesn’t have to tell me he’s laughing. I can feel it. Alright, so, I want to know why I’m here.”

P-L-E-A-S-E.

W-A-I-T.

He frowns and his good mood vanishes. Is this more baloney? “Why? I’ve already waited.”

R-E-A-D.

F-I-L-E.

“Okay, fine. Read fast and then I want answers.”

Tap, tap, tap.

*             *             *

Stepping out into the hallway with her chair—she didn’t want to leave a strange object in the room that he could trip over—she has a seat in the chair in the hallway and reads through his file.

As she reads the details, she realizes two unfortunate things.

The ‘Steve’ who Barnes had referenced must be the same Steve who is the alleged abuser in his case, and based on the affection in Barnes’ voice when he talked about him, it doesn’t seem that Barnes wants to get away from him.

The other unfortunate fact is that Barnes’ case really isn’t that uncommon. She sighs softly.

_‘Allegations of sexual abuse: Complainant reports seeing Steve Rogers (SR) making multiple sexual advances on client. Complainant believes SR is forcing client to engage in non-consensual sexual acts. Allegations of neglect: Complainant reports seeing client locked out on balcony for prolonged periods of time every day. Client has no access to shelter or other necessities while confined to the balcony.’_

She flips a page.

_‘Complainant believes client lacks mental capacity to consent to sexual activities and is not able to adequately communicate his needs.’_

Oh, boy. Something about the situation doesn’t sit right with her. Just based on the few minutes of interaction she had with Barnes, she can tell he’s perfectly capable of communicating his needs and wants. In her experience, if such a big part of the complaint is false, the whole case is usually based on nothing but baseless suspicions.

“Terell?”

“Yes, Doctor?”

“What’s your impression of Barnes?”

Terell smiles. It seems he’s fond of him. “Oh, he’s a really nice guy. He’s a bit upset because he doesn’t know why he’s here and I totally get that. But he’s really nice. He told me when I was helping him too much, or when he needed more help. And he taught me how to do yes and no.”

She smiles. “Keep in mind that those signals are his personal ones. They’re not universal.”

Terell looks a bit crestfallen. “Oh.”

“If you’d like to learn about different ways of signing, just let me know. I’d be happy to teach you.”

Terell smiles. “Oh, that’d be great!”

“So tell me more about your interactions with him.”

“Well, when I brought him dinner last night, I tried to help him walk from the bed to the table and he told me I was doing it wrong and I should hold on to his elbow. Then I tried to help him eat, but he told me he could do it himself, and he did. Then he asked me to get him toilet paper—I was an idiot and forgot to grab a napkin—anyway, I got him the toilet paper and he was grateful for that. This morning he taught me yes and no and he was really happy that I remembered the napkin. He seems like a nice guy.”

Prabhjot listens carefully. Everything Terell says confirms her earlier suspicions. Barnes understands and communicates his own needs and wants properly. Plus, he seems to have spent time exploring his new surroundings and learning the layout of the room enough that he could move from the bed to the table only using his cane and Terell’s minimal guidance. All signs that he’s capable of taking care of himself and that he’s capable of making appropriate decisions for himself.

Regardless, she’ll still have to interview him. “Thanks, Terell. That was really helpful.”

She picks up her chair and goes back into Barnes’ room. She walks up to him and touches his hand again.

He startles again, but he recovers quickly, masking his shock with an annoyed frown. He brushes his fingers over her wrist again—it seems to be an automatic motion. “About time,” he says and holds up his hand, waiting for her to start spelling.

She puts down her chair and sits. She takes hold of his hand and launches right into the situation.

I

A-S-K.

Y-O-U.

Q-U-E-S-T-I-O-N-S.

She draws a question mark on his palm. It’s a pretty universal sign, so she hopes he uses it.

He nods. “Okay. Go ahead.”

W-H-O.

I-S.

S-T-E-V-E.

Question mark.

A smile appears on his face. “Steve’s—Steve’s my best friend. My—the love of my life, the man I live with, my best fella. He’s my everything. Has been since I was eight years old.”

Interesting.

D-O-E-S.

H-E.

H-U-R-T.

Y-O-U.

Question mark.

An immediate frown. “Hurt me? What do you mean, ‘does he hurt me’? He annoys me from time to time, and we get into little snits and we might say a few rude things, but we apologize and make up ten minutes later. It’s always been that way.”

She rubs the back of his hand multiple times.

“No? That’s not what you were asking? Then you’re gonna have to be more specific because I don’t get it.”

I-S.

T-H-E-R-E.

P-H-Y-S-I-C-A-L.

H-U-R-T.

Question mark.

“Physical? You’re seriously asking if we beat each other?! Hell no! We roughhouse a bit here and there, but that’s it. It’s just play. He’s not actually hurting me.”

Now comes the tough question.

I-S.

T-H-E-R-E.

S-E-X-U-A-L.

H-U-R-T.

Question mark.

He reels back with shock. “What?! What do you mean sexual hurt? You’re asking if Steve—if Steve makes me do things I don’t wanna do?” He looks completely gobsmacked. “Are you crazy?”

She doesn’t respond. She needs him to actually answer the question.

“You—what the hell? Where is this garbage coming from? I can’t believe you’re asking me something like that!”

She calmly holds his hand, waiting. She’s accustomed to such defensiveness. She hates doing interviews using print-on-palm technique. Because it takes so much time to write out each word, it’s not practical to use full sentences or transition slowly from topic to topic, but it does allow the deafblind individual to keep up with the conversation and moves the interview along at a reasonable pace. The downside is that she needs to keep her questions succinct and be very blunt, which makes discussing personal issues even more difficult.

She finds herself wishing that Barnes could understand ASL. She’d come across a lot politer and less crass if she could communicate with him using ASL, but they don’t have that option.

He takes a deep breath, calming himself down. He sits up straight. “No. _No_ , Steve doesn’t hurt me sexually or physically, or in any other way. He never has and he never will. If somebody told you that he is they’re lying.”

Y-O-U.

C-A-N.

S-A-Y.

N-O.

T-O.

S-E-X.

Question mark.

He’s glowering in her direction. “ _Yes_ ,” he says with clenched teeth. “Yes, I can say no to sex with Steve if I don’t feel like having sex with him. And _yes_ Steve will respect my choice. Just like he can say no to me, and I’ll respect his choice. I can’t _believe_ you’re asking me these questions.”

S-E-X.

I-S.

N-O-T.

P-A-Y-M-E-N-T.

Question mark.

“What? What the hell do you mean ‘payment’? For what?”

A-P-A-R-T-M-E-N-T.

F-O-O-D.

C-L-O-T-

He folds his hand over hers, interrupting her spelling. “Okay, okay, I get it! Look, I don’t see how it’s any of your business who’s paying for our rent or our food or anything else. But okay, if I have to answer the stupid question, then I will. Steve and I have lived together for a long time and we’ve never kept track of who pays for what. _Ever_. So no, I don’t have to have sex with Steve so he’ll keep feeding me or letting me sleep in our bed. This whole thing is ridiculous. You hear me? Ridiculous! I hope you’re writing that down.”

She feels pretty confident that the sexual abuse allegations are false. Nothing in his behavior or his answers point towards that type of abuse.

An added bonus is that she’s feeling more and more confident that he’s fully competent. That means she just has to address the last part of the complaint, then she can tell him he’s free to go if he chooses.

T-E-L-L.

M-E.

A-B-O-U-T.

B-A-L-C-O-N-Y.

“The balcony?” he shrugs. “Are you new to the planet? You don’t know what a balcony is?”

She doesn’t respond to his baiting.

D-O.

Y-O-U.

U-S-E.

B-A-L-C-O-N-Y.

Question mark.

He huffs in annoyance. “This is so stupid. _Yes_ , I’m on the balcony a lot. The balcony is where I like to spend a lot of my time. I like being able to feel and smell the weather. I can concentrate better and I feel safer than if I’m inside. I’m getting better at being inside, but I still prefer being out on the balcony.”

D-O.

Y-O-U.

L-I-K-E.

I-T.

Question mark.

“Didn’t I just answer that? I can’t believe somebody actually pays you to ask me these stupid questions. Yes, I like being on the balcony. If somebody is saying something crazy like Steve’s forcing me to stay on the balcony against my will, they’re stupid and wrong and I hope they fry in hell.”

W-H-A-T.

A-R-E.

Y-O-U-R.

H-O-B-B-I-E-S.

Question mark.

“My hobbies? Not that it’s any of your business but I have a lot of them. I do art projects, I’ve started knitting, I play games with Steve, I practice doing things around the apartment…lots of stuff. Steve is always working hard to find new things for me to do or finding ways to make things easier for me.” He glares in her direction. “Would you like to know how many times I use the bathroom in a day too? Because you’ve practically covered every other private topic in my life, so it would only be right for you to get the whole picture.”

She hides a smile. His defensive outbursts are actually helping his case. It helps demonstrate his understanding of the conversation and his mental independence.

She’s confident James Barnes is mentally competent.

As such, she will now tell him that he can chose whether to accept their assistance or if he wants to put a stop to the entire thing.

She debates apologizing for the abruptness of the interview questions and trying to explain to him that the situation would be different if they had a different method of communication.

But then she realizes that the kindest thing she can do for Barnes is to move things along as quickly as possible. She guesses he desperately wants to go home, so she’ll help make that happen as soon as possible.

She squeezes his hand, hopefully signalling to him that she’s about to change topics.

D-O.

Y-O-U.

W-A-N-T.

H-E-L-P.

Question mark.

He frowns. “Help? Is that what you’re calling this whole thing? You practically kidnapped me and left me locked up alone and terrified. You think you’re somehow _helping_ me? You’re all idiots.”

She waits.

He leans forward. “No! No, I don’t want your help. I want to go home and I never want to deal with you people again.”

O-K.

He freezes. “Okay? That’s it? Just ‘okay’?”

Y-O-U.

C-A-N.

G-O.

H-O-M-E.

He straightens up. “Good. Good! Let’s go. Right now.”

He’s completely serious. He drops her hand and shakes his cane into his hand and stands.

She gapes slightly. Damn, she should have phrased that differently. She gently takes hold of his hand.

P-L-E-A-S-E.

W-A-I-T.

He glares. “I’ve been waiting for hours! You people have wasted enough of my time and Steve’s time. I ain’t waiting any longer. Terell will bring me outside to wait while you do whatever paper work shit you gotta do and call Steve to come get me.”

He yanks his hand out of her grasp and walks to the door. He bangs on it, loudly telling Terell to open the door.

She sighs softly. Well, that could have gone better.

She hurries after him and reaches around him to open the door. As soon as it’s open, Barnes pushes past Terell. He stops in the hallway. “Terell, let’s go pal. Bring me outside and we’ll wait for Steve.”

Terell gapes at him, then at Prabhjot.

She nods. “He’s free to go. Bring him outside and stay with him. Hopefully he’ll calm down when he’s outside. I’ll call his pick-up, do the paperwork and join you in a few minutes.”

Terell and Barnes head towards the lobby and Prabhjot hurries to the main office. Along the way, she pulls open the file and reads over Paul’s interview with Steve.

Steve flat out denied every allegation and his story about the balcony matches Barnes’. Either they’re both good liars and got their stories straight, or the allegations are false.

Either way, it doesn’t matter any longer.

Prabhjot is completely confident that James Barnes is mentally competent and he clearly doesn’t want their assistance, which means this case is closed.

*             *             *

The down side to keeping their apartment so clean all the times is that Steve ends up wandering around, his mind reeling and his hands have nothing to do.

He goes out to the balcony and is immediately annoyed at himself when he sees that he’s left Bucky’s art kit and his project out here all night. He carefully picks up Bucky’s half-finished pepper flower drawing and slides it into one of the plastic sleeves in his art binder. Some of the small containers have gotten nudged around with the wind overnight, so he carefully puts everything back into the right places. He closes up Bucky’s art kit and takes his mug of cold coffee into the kitchen.

Then he sits on the couch, waiting.

The phone rings and he scrambles to answer it.

It’s Natasha, letting him know that the lawyers will be calling APS to pressure them into moving along Bucky’s assessment. Unfortunately she can’t do anything else.

Neither can Steve.

Since he’s agreed to play ball with APS, all he can do is wait.

He hangs up and goes back to sitting on the couch, waiting.

The phone rings again.

This time it’s Sam, asking him how he’s doing. The only positive thing that Steve can report is that he didn’t make himself physically sick from panicking overnight.

Sam tells Steve he’s going to talk to Natasha and if it looks like this situation will take a few days to resolve, he’ll be on the next plane to New York. Then Sam tries to distract him by asking him about other things, but Steve’s mind is so focused on worrying about Bucky that he can’t keep track of the conversations Sam tries distracting him with.

Then Sam tells him he has a group session starting and he needs to go, but he wants Steve to call him if there’s any news.

Once he’s hung up with Sam, Steve is back to sitting on the couch, worrying about Bucky and staring at his phone.

He spends so long staring at his silent phone that he nearly jumps out of his skin when it abruptly starts ringing that afternoon.

He nearly drops it as he fumbles to pick it up.

“Hello?”

“Is this Steve Rogers?”

“Yes, that’s me. Who’s this?”

“My name is Prabhjot Kapur. I’m a therapist who works with APS. I wanted to let you know that we’ve finished James Barnes’ assessment and he’s free to go. Are you able to pick him or do you want us to put him into a cab?”

Steve’s heart nearly flies out of his chest. He’s on his feet, already hurrying towards the door. “I’ll—I’ll pick him up. Where is he?”

She rattles off the address. Steve memorizes it. He has no idea where it actually is, but hopefully the hackie will know. He steps into his shoes, grabs his keys and he’s out the door while he disconnects the call.

When he gets outside, there are no hackies in sight so he sprints three blocks over to a busier intersection and basically steps in the path of a passing hackie, forcing him to stop. Steve rattles off the address and tells him he’ll pay him double if he gets there as quickly as possible.

Along the way he texts Nat, telling her he’s going to pick Bucky up, and thanking her. She sends back a bunch of smiley faces in response. He also texts Sam with the good news. He immediately gets a reply: ‘Go get your boy!’.

That’s the plan.

*             *             *

The second Bucky feels the cool breeze on his face, he feels better. No matter what happens, at least he’s outside and out of that stupid room.

Terell’s walking beside him, keeping two fingers tucked into Bucky’s elbow.

When Bucky feels his cane suddenly drop off, he freezes. Is there a hole in the sidewalk?

Whatever. He’s fine staying where he is.

“This is good, Terell. Are we right by the street?”

A tap on his hand.

“Okay, thank you.”

Bucky lapses into silence. The minutes tick by.

_Hurry up, Rogers. Hurry up. I wanna go home. I want home, and you, and no more stupid people asking stupid questions._

He thinks about checking his watch, but he has no idea what time it was when he came out here, so there’s no point. As long as he’s outside and not in that stupid room, he can wait.

Suddenly, Bucky can feel Terell tensing and his fingers slip off his elbow. Bucky tenses and tries to prepare himself for whatever’s about to happen.

Moments later, he feels somebody touch his hand. He brushes his hand over the strange hand, half afraid that he’ll feel nothing again—but he touches a leather bracelet.

He makes himself stay calm—lots of people could be wearing a leather bracelet. He runs his fingers over it.

A large bead.

Di, di, dit.

Dah.

Dit…

He grins, relief flooding him. He wants to yank Steve into his arms, but he knows if he lets himself hug Steve right now, they’ll be standing on this sidewalk for hours, and he’d much rather hug Steve at home.

“Hi, Rogers. Let’s go home.”

He can feel Steve’s hand trembling and when Steve moves closer to him and tucks Bucky’s hand into the bend of his elbow, he can feel that Steve’s entire body is trembling.

Bucky’s throat is tight and he tightens his grip on his cane.

They need to get home.

They need to get home right now.

Steve helps him fold up his cane, then guides him into a car of some sort. Steve settles in beside him, then they’re moving.

The car stops moving after a while and Steve shifts around a bit and helps pull Bucky out of the car.

They walk for a little while, Bucky’s cane vibrating as it moves over the ground—they’re walking over some type of rough surface. Then Steve’s pulling him to a stop.

Suddenly, Bucky feels Steve grabbing his knees. A moment later, he’s being pulled onto Steve’s back. He bites back a startled shout and wraps his arm around Steve’s neck. He realizes the cane is digging into Steve’s face, but he doesn’t dare adjust himself.

He remembers they did this when they’d first come home. He stays as still as possible and feels Steve moving. Then he’s being let down and Steve wraps a tight arm around him, pulling him forward before Bucky has a chance to use his cane. He lets himself be pulled forward and they walk a few more steps before Steve’s releasing him. Bucky sweeps around with his cane and hits something on both sides of him. Walls maybe?

He’s swinging his cane back and forth, then the left wall suddenly disappears and he’s being pulled into the empty area.

Then he’s surrounded by the scent of home. The door—he’d just stepped through the door.

He’s home.

Home, home, _home_.

As soon as he’s inside the door, Bucky pulls Steve in after him, slams the door shut and runs his hand over it until he finds the deadbolt and flips it shut.

He drops his cane and reaches for Steve.

He feels Steve’s arms wrap around him and Steve’s face tucks into his neck. They’re both trembling—from relief, anxiety and fear that had built up over the last twenty-four hours. Bucky tangles his hand in the back of Steve’s shirt and holds him close, burying his face in Steve’s neck.

They stand there for long minutes, breathing each other in, giving and taking comfort from each other.

Bucky feels like he’s going to collapse. He’s completely exhausted. The stress of the whole situation and his lack of sleep are rapidly catching up with him now that he doesn’t have to be on alert anymore.

“Stevie, I’m exhausted. Can we go to bed? I bet you didn’t sleep good last night either, huh?”

He feels Steve shaking his head against his neck.

“Come on, let’s go to bed. I don’t care what time it is.”

He hates letting go of Steve, but the thought of cuddling in their bed push him into moving. “Stevie, hand me my cane, please. I gotta get my shoes off.”

His cane is pressed into his hand and the strap is wrapped around his wrist. He leans on the wall next to him and toes off both shoes and heads for the bedroom. His cane smacks right into Steve and Bucky edges around him with an apology.

As he walks, he’s surrounded by the scents of home. It’s like his fuzzy blanket—warm and comforting. He knows exactly where everything is and how everything should smell and feel. The darkness is warm and the silence is a safe cocoon.

He reaches their bed and pulls off his clothes. He finds his sleepwear exactly where it should be, folds up his cane and puts it in its holster on the bedside table. He gets changed and crawls onto bed, collapsing face down in his nest of pillows, his comforting wall of pillows right beside him.

Moments later, he can feel the bed dip and his comforting wall of Steve lies down on his other side.

He rolls onto his back and pulls off his watch. He hangs it on the nail on the wall.

Steve’s hand is on his stomach, rubbing over his shirt, then he’s taking Bucky’s hand and pulling him to sit up.

“Rogers, I just laid down. I wanna cuddle. What are you doing?”

Then he feels Steve pulling a familiar strap over his arm. It’s pulled up to his bicep and a gentle press closes the Velcro.

Bucky grins. It’s his motion sensor receiver.

“Thank you.”

He lies back down and reaches for Steve. His hand lands on his shoulder and he runs his hand up to his face. Steve’s not trembling anymore and he’s smiling.

“That whole thing was terrifying and dumb and I hate that we had to go through that, but I’m pretty confident it’s over.”

Steve taps on his hand multiple times.

“Yeah? You talked to them before we left?”

Tap.

“It’s over? Completely over?”

Tap, tap, tap.

Relief runs through him and he lets out a sigh. “Oh, thank God.”

He moves his hand to the back of Steve’s neck and tugs him forward. “Come here.”

He closes his eyes when he feels the first brush of Steve’s lips on his. They exchange soft, warm kisses, trying to comfort each other and erase the last traces of fear and anxiety that are still sitting in the back of their minds.

Before long, Bucky’s swimming in warmth and contentment. He’s got his wall of pillows on one side, his motion sensor on his arm and Steve is covering the rest of him.

One of Steve’s legs is draped over both of his, one of Steve’s arms is on his belly, the other is running through his hair, his lips are kissing Bucky’s face, his breath warming wherever his kisses land.

“I’m okay, Stevie. I promise.”

He feels Steve press his forehead against his.

“Come here, punk. Let’s get some sleep.” He runs his hand up Steve’s face and gently brushes through his hair, pulling his head down to rest on Bucky’s chest.

“Blankets,” he murmurs into Steve’s hair. He feels Steve shift around and the blankets are being pulled over them. He slings a leg around the back of Steve’s legs and pulls the blanket tight around them, snuggling into his pillows, Steve’s breath warming his skin above the collar of his shirt.

“We’re okay now, Stevie. It’s all over. We were both brave and now we’re both home and everything’s gonna be okay.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that Bucky's home, safe and sound, the boys can move forward in their journey. In this chapter: some welcome-home sexy times, Bucky makes himself a cup of coffee and Steve learns about prosthetic arm options. Enjoy!

Bucky wakes up feeling a lot better. He’s warm, comfortable and even though he has to pee, having Steve Rogers’ arm draped over him feels good enough to ignore his bladder for the time being.

He keeps his breathing slow and even and doesn’t move, not wanting Steve to wake up.

Steve’s breaths are slow and deep, warm air heating Bucky’s shoulder on each exhale. Bucky knows he’s snoring softly. Steve’s arm is completely relaxed, practically dead weight on Bucky’s chest. This is Steve Rogers, sound asleep.

And Bucky doesn’t want to be anywhere else.

He wants to check the time, but that much shifting would wake Steve. It’s not worth it.

He’s so happy he’s home.

He holds out until his bladder starts really protesting. Making a face, he slowly pushes himself up and tries wedging himself against his wall of pillows so he doesn’t bump Steve.

He quietly scoots to the end of the bed and steps off from there, hoping he doesn’t wake Steve.

He keeps a hand on the edge of the bed as he quietly moves towards the bedside table where his cane is waiting in its holster. He’s about to pull it out, but then decides he doesn’t need it.

He knows how to get to the bathroom. He turns so he’s facing the bathroom and he’s the right distance from the bedside table.

He holds his arm a bit in front of him—habit more than necessity—and takes the required eight steps, then he’s touching the counter top. He does his business and makes it back to the bed, hoping he’s managed to do everything quietly enough not to wake Steve.

He goes back to the end of the bed and carefully feels for the lump that should be Steve’s feet so he can get back on without crushing him.

There is no lump.

Bucky frowns and runs his hand over a larger area of blanket. He knows Steve is too tall for his feet to not be in this area.

Then something touches his hip.

He jerks away from the touch with a startled shout.

A second later, his hand is being squeezed with multiple apologies.

“Jesus, Rogers. I thought you were still sleeping,” he says. His heart is hammering in his chest from the shock.

A kiss on the back of his hand.

“It’s okay. I’m fine, punk. What time is it? Should we go back to sleep?”

A rub. Then his hand is being turned over and his watch is pressed into it. He feels for the time. 7:30ish.

“Is it evening or morning?”

M-O-R-N.

“Jesus, we slept a while, huh?”

Tap.

Bucky grins in what he thinks is Steve’s direction. “Well, since we’re both up, how about we go brush our teeth and then I was thinking of getting back into bed, but not for sleeping.”

He feels Steve come closer and then he’s got Steve’s arms wrapped around his waist and kisses are being pressed onto his neck.

He groans, but twists his hand into Steve’s shirt and pushes him back. “I’m serious. I haven’t brushed my teeth since yesterday morning. I’m only thinking of you here. Trust me, you really want me to make time with a toothbrush before I make time with you.”

Steve’s arms drop and he disappears. Bucky moves back to the bedside table and counts the eight steps to the bathroom counter. As he’s brushing his teeth, he feels Steve brush past him from time to time, but Bucky never collides with him and he’s always got full use of the sink when he needs it. Steve’s a wonderful, wonderful fella.

Bucky tells him exactly that when he’s dropping his toothbrush back in its cup.

He feels Steve’s arms wrap around his waist and feels Steve smiling into his neck. “Come on, Rogers. Back to bed we go. We have stuff to do.”

Bucky pulls off his shirt once he’s back by the bed and shoves off his shorts. He feels a hand running up his back and tangling in his hair to tilt his head—and lips are brushing his own.

He kisses Steve and wraps his arm around Steve’s waist. He realizes he’s taken off his clothes too.

As they kiss, Bucky feels a slow burn of arousal in his belly, but he’s enjoying the slow pace. They tumble down on the bed, Bucky shuffling himself over so he’s in his comfortable nest and Steve follows, his lips barely leaving Bucky’s.

Bucky spreads his legs and nudges Steve between them, their cocks brushing, heat and arousal building slowly. Steve’s kisses are getting sloppier, his breathing is quickening, his cock thickening against Bucky’s thigh.

“Stevie, fuck me. Please,” Bucky manages to get out between kisses.

Steve shifts and his lips and heat move away for a moment. Then he’s back, catching Bucky’s bottom lip between his teeth and tugging light, his hand running down Bucky’s chest to his cock.

A few strokes, a little rub across his leaking slit and he feels lube-slicked fingers pressing against his hole. He pulls his knees up, spreading himself open more. Steve’s weight on him shifts and he feels Steve’s knees pressing against his ass.

Steve fingers him open slowly, leaning down to kiss him every few thrusts. Bucky feels his cock twitch, arousal tingling at the base of his spine. He lets out a groan when Steve eases in a third finger.

“Damn it, Steve, get in me already,” he says, groping in the air for Steve. He finds a shoulder and follows that shoulder down his arm, bumping over the leather bracelet on his wrist, then the hand and down to where the hand’s fingers are slowly thrusting into him.

He’d meant to find Steve’s hip or another body part that he could pull on that would bring Steve’s cock closer, but he uses his mistake to his advantage, tracing his rim where Steve’s fingers are slowly thrusting in an out. Oh, that feels good.

“Rogers, if you don’t get your cock in me, I’m gonna add a couple of my own fingers and then I won’t need your—”

His words are cut off by a hard kiss and Steve’s body is pressed close enough that he can feel Steve’s cock twitching against his thigh. His heart skips a beat at the sudden kiss—but when Steve’s this excited, he can be forgiven for not giving advanced warning. Bucky grins into the kiss.

Steve pulls back completely—his fingers too—and then Bucky feels the slick tip of his cock pressing against his rim. He grins through his panting. “Come on, Rog—”

A hard thrust buries Steve inside him, cutting off Bucky’s words and breath for a moment. Steve’s still for a moment, his arms braced on either side of Bucky’s head, nose nuzzling Bucky’s face.

That’s when Bucky feels wetness on Steve’s face. Some of it is sweat, but they haven’t been active enough for Steve to be this sweaty.

He pulls back, bringing his hand to Steve’s face, carefully tracing his closed eyes. Definitely not sweat.

“Stevie, what’s wrong? I thought you wanted to have sex? Sweetheart, if you don’t wanna have sex, we don’t have to. Jesus—you gotta tell me these things—” His heart is clenching from worry and he’s debating how best to get Steve calm while in the position they’re currently in, but then he realizes Steve’s frantically shaking his head.

Kisses are peppering Bucky’s face.

Bucky frowns, confused.

“Stevie, I—are you okay? Talk to me, darling.”

He feels Steve sit up—Steve’s cock slip free—and Steve picks up his hand.

I.

A-M.

O-K.

“You sure?”

I.

Smiley face.

Smiley face.

Smiley face.

Bucky grins. “Okay, okay. I got it. You’re not upset, huh?”

Rub, rub, rub.

“You just missed me, you big lug, huh?”

Tap, tap, tap.

Then the air moves and kisses are pressed to his chest, up his neck and on his face. Bucky reaches up and tangles his hand in Steve’s hair and finds his lips with his own. “I missed you too. Jesus, I can’t even tell you.”

The kisses get heated fast and they’re both rubbing against each other, heat building between them again.

“Alright then, now that that’s settled, you wanna get back to what you were doing? Or rather, who you were doing?”

Bucky wiggles a bit, jostling Steve, who’s still kneeling between his legs.

His breath catches in his throat again when Steve rubs his cock over Bucky’s hole, giving him a bit of warning before he’s sliding back in. He’s thrusting, staying deep and close to him just like Bucky likes.

His arms are braced by Bucky’s head and Bucky braces his heels on the bed so he can join Steve’s thrusts, their bodies settling into a familiar rhythm. Steve’s head drops on Bucky’s shoulder and his hot breath gusts against his skin in warm bursts. His lips are moving.

Bucky turns his head so his lips are right by Steve’s ear. “I love you, sweetheart,” he says. He catches Steve’s earlobe in his teeth and gives it a little tug. Steve’s rhythm falters for a second and Bucky swears he can feel him twitch deep inside him.

Bucky grins and does it again, alternating nibbling and licking on Steve’s ear until he feels him tensing.

He feels Steve push himself up and then there’s a hand on Bucky’s cock, jerking him fast and rough, wanting to make him come before he does.

Steve gets his wish—Bucky comes with a shout, his hand clenched in the bedsheets, then Steve gives a few more hard thrusts and Bucky feels him come.

Oh, Bucky definitely loves being home.

*             *             *

The whole APS mess had taken about 24 hours, but it takes Steve and Bucky about a week until they’re back to normal.

Neither of them want to let the other out of their sight—or rather, out of their grasp. They revert back to walking around together and they do everything together. More specifically, Bucky hangs onto Steve’s arm or wraps his arm around his waist and patiently waits while Steve does whatever he needs to do, while Steve takes three times longer to get things done, because he keeps touching Bucky and asking him if he’s okay.

Bucky asks Steve how the whole mess had started, and Steve spells out:

A-N-O-N-Y-M-O-U-S.

C-O-M-P-L-A-I-N-T.

 Damn. So some stranger had filed an anonymous complaint.

That gets Bucky riled up and he demands to know who filed the complaint, and why they aren’t spending time trying to uncover the identity of the complainant.

“I’m gonna find ‘em and definitely give ‘em something to complain about. I promise you that.”

Steve spells out:

N-O-T.

G-O-O-D.

I-D-E-A.

“Fuck ‘good idea’. I just wanna get revenge on the idiot.”

Rub, rub, rub.

L-O-T-S.

T-I-M-E.

L-O-T-S.

E-N-E-R-G-Y.

“Well—”

Steve keeps spelling.

I-F.

Y-O-U.

W-A-N-T.

Steve presses his thumb against Bucky’s fingers.

Steve’s telling him that if Bucky wants to look for the complainant, they can, but Steve hadn’t included himself in the statement.

“What do you want, Steve? What do you think?”

Steve hesitates.

I.

W-A-N-T.

M-O-V-E.

O-N.

“You do? You wanna just put it behind us?”

Tap.

Fine. There’s no way he’s going to spend time on something that’s causing extra stress for Steve. “Alright, fine.”

So they spend their time trying to get themselves back to normal.

Each day things get easier and when nothing unusual happens, they start to relax again. They gradually feel comfortable being separated during the day, and Bucky goes back to checking tasks off on his ‘independence’ list.

*             *             *

A week later, Bucky’s finished washing the breakfast dishes. He carefully puts the last washed plate into the drying rack. He runs gentle fingers over all the items in the rack, making sure everything’s secure. He takes the rubber mat out of the sink, shakes it out and hangs it on the hook above the sink. He turns off the water and squeezes out the sponge wand. He grabs the rag next to where the sponge wand lives and wipes the counter dry.

Dishes are done. Time for coffee.

He runs his hand over the counter until he reaches the first container. It’s a square plastic container—like all their containers are now. Their old sugar jar—a glass, round container—hadn’t survived the roll off the counter after Bucky accidentally nudged it.

He touches the container and verifies that it’s the sugar jar. He knows it’s the sugar jar because he’d made labels for a lot of the dry, non-perishable ingredients in the kitchen using small samples of the food and taped them to the containers. The sugar jar’s got a little label with sugar glued to it. So that’s Bucky cue to lift his hand—and sure enough, he touches the mug/glass cupboard doorknob.

He pulls it open and pulls out his favourite mug. It’s got some funny bumps on it—Steve tells him it’s some sort of cartoon face—and Bucky likes it because it’s easy to identify. He likes knowing that he’s using the same mug each day. All the other mugs feel the same. Steve’s told him they’re different colors, but that no longer holds any meaning for Bucky.

He pulls out his mug and moves over to the coffee machine. He gently puts down his mug and touches the jar next to the machine and feels the label. It feels like coffee, but he opens the lid and leans down to sniff it, just in case. Yup, coffee. He hasn’t had a repeat of the ‘pepper incident’ yet and wants to keep it that way.

He opens up the machine, measures out the right amount of coffee and dumps it into the filter. Then he grabs the plastic jug that sits next to the coffee and goes to fill it with water. When he brings it back, he carefully sets it on the counter and opens up the water section of the machine. He spends time carefully lining up the jug with the water section opening, verifying that he’s got things properly aligned before he starts pouring water. He stops occasionally and touches the counter around the machine. Nice and dry, that means no spills. Excellent! He’s getting better every day.

Once the water’s all in, he closes everything, then double checks that he closed everything.

He checks three times to make sure the coffee pot is in place. He doesn’t want a repeat of the morning when he forgot to check the pot’s position, and the pot had sat quietly in the drying rack while the entire kitchen had been drenched in coffee. Steve had been out on the balcony and neither of them had noticed until Bucky had stepped into the puddles of coffee when he’d gone to check the machine’s progress. He hadn’t felt the liquid under his slippers, but once he noticed that the edges of his sweatpants were wet, he’d bent down to investigate the strangeness. He’d called Steve over and he’d waited patiently for Steve to explain what had happened.

Steve thought it was hilarious. At first Bucky was annoyed at himself and went to get a spare towel from the bathroom to mop up the mess—but once he’d re-done the coffee (properly) and had sat down with Steve with their coffee, he’d started seeing the humor in the situation.

Satisfied that everything is in its place and closed correctly, he finds the button panel. One push of the second button (it’s got a dot sticker on it), then two pushes of the fifth button (which also has a dot sticker on it), then the big circular button.

He checks his watch. In five minutes he’ll have fresh coffee.

He leans against the counter and keeps his hand on his watch. When the five minutes are up, he gently touches the side of the coffee pot. The glass feels hot, and when he pulls the pot out of its cradle, he can feel it’s heavy.  He leans down and smells the coffee and lets the steam drift over his face. All these signs point to things having gone well.

He carefully pours coffee into his mug and takes a little sip.

Excellent coffee.

That means: Excellent job, Barnes.

He grins, very satisfied with himself and heads into the living room. Along the way, he brushes past Steve, who’s sitting at the table. He feels Steve’s hand snag his shirt.

“Yeah?”

A gentle kiss is pressed to his forearm, careful not to jostle the coffee.

That means: Good job, Barnes.

Bucky grins. “I know, I know. I’m amazing.”

He feels a slight tinge of sadness—it would have been nice for Steve to say ‘good job, Barnes’—but Bucky has to remember not to be selfish.

It was kind of nice at the facility to have Prabhjot using longer words and more complex sentences. He’d been a bit surprised at himself that he could keep up with the conversation so well. He’s sure he could handle more complex conversations with Steve.

But—don’t be selfish, Barnes.

Steve has enough to deal with.

*             *             *

Steve is chatting with somebody on the online disability forums he frequents when his phone rings.

He glances at the display. He recognizes the number as the clinic where he’d left a message the day before.

A rush of excitement races through him and he snatches up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hello, is this Steve?”

“Yes, this is Steve.”

“Hi Steve, this is Rakesha Moore returning your call. You wanted some information about arm prosthetics?”

Steve puts the phone on speaker and opens up a document on his computer so he can take notes during their conversation. Bucky’s out on the balcony with his knitting loom and snacks, so Steve figures he has lots of time to have this conversation without Bucky catching on. He doesn’t want to stress Bucky out about his arm before they know the whole story. Steve will gather all the relevant intel and then talk to Bucky.

“Yes, thank you for calling me back. I have a friend—James—he’s missing an arm and I wanted to get some information about prosthetics.”

“I see. Was the amputation a result of a trauma?”

Was it ever. “Yes.”

“Have his physical therapists okayed him for a prosthetic?”

Uh. “He—he doesn’t have a physical therapist. The amputation happened a long time ago.”

“No problem. Why don’t we make an appointment for James to come in, and we can show him some different options and do some fit tests and we’ll go from there.”

“Uhm. That’s—that’s not really an option at this point.”

“Oh?”

Steve realizes he must sound like an idiot. He decides if he wants to get accurate intel from this woman, he’ll have to tell her the whole story.

Well, a censored version of the whole story.

“The amputation happened a long time ago. He had a prosthetic but it was—it wasn’t a good fit for him. He stopped using it about a year ago. Since then he’s gone through another…uh, trauma. He’s lost his sight and hearing—”

“Oh, the poor man! I’m so sorry.”

Steve blinks. He’s not accustomed to people feeling sorry for Buck. But she doesn’t sound like she pities Buck—she genuinely sounds like she’s sad about the situation.

“Uh, thank you. He’s—the sight and hearing loss happened a few months ago so he’s been dealing with that. He still has trouble communicating and he hasn’t left the apartment yet. Going to your office at this point is way too much. But I wanted to get information about prosthetics so I know what our options are when he’s ready for that.”

“Okay, no problem. So are you familiar with today’s prosthetics at all?”

“No, not really. Neither of us are.”

“What kind of amputation does he have?”

“Uh, it’s his left arm.”

“I understand, but how much of his left arm is remaining?”

“None of it.”

“So the entire humerus is gone?”

“Yes.”

“We call that a shoulder disarticulation. I’ll be honest—for such extreme upper arm amputations, the prosthetic attachments tend to be quite complicated.”

She explains that Bucky would have three options. No matter which option he wants, since there’s no residual limb left on his left side to act as an anchor, he’d have to wear a complicated harness made up of various straps that would go around his chest and right arm to keep the prosthetic in place.

The first option is a straight forward non-functional prosthetic. The joints bend, but only through direct manual manipulation. The prosthetic is purely for cosmetic purposes and it’s for people who don’t need to use the prosthetic to do things, but want to look like they have both arms.

The second option is a prosthetic that functions through indirect manual manipulation. In addition to the harness keeping it in place, there would be additional straps and pulleys attached to Bucky’s right arm. He could move the prosthetic by moving his right arm in certain ways.

The last option is a myoelectric arm, which functions through indirect electrical manipulation. Along with the harness anchor, there would be wires running from the prosthetic to electrodes stuck to Bucky’s back muscles and right arm. The arm can be programmed to move in certain ways based on specific muscle contractions in his back and right arm.

Steve blinks.

That all sounds horribly complicated.

“Are you telling me it’s the 21st century and this is all the progress people have made on making fake limbs?” He doesn’t mean to sound so annoyed, but he is annoyed.

“Steve, you have to understand that the more complex a prosthetic is, the more expensive it is. A myoelectric arm is usually about $100,000 and that doesn’t include the constant maintenance and repair costs. Insurance companies cover very small amounts of prosthetic related costs, and most people can’t afford more than a basic prosthetic. Companies don’t want to spend time developing things that nobody will be able to afford.”

He wants to keep arguing about it, but then he realizes it’s not her fault, and arguing isn’t the point of this conversation.

“The cost doesn’t matter. So you’d recommend one of the electric arms?”

She’s quiet, thinking it over. “Honestly? In James’ situation, I don’t believe the prosthetic will be as helpful as you think it will be. The arm doesn’t have any sensory receptors. He could learn how to manipulate the arm, but he wouldn’t be able to feel if he’s managed to pick something up, or if he’s holding something correctly. People have to be able to see what the arm is doing. Since James doesn’t have that option, he’d have to use his right hand to constantly check what the prosthetic is doing. It wouldn’t be the same as having a regular second hand.”

Steve sighs. This—this is not what he’d been hoping to hear.

“Plus, in his current condition, I’m sure he’s dealing with a lot of things. Learning how to put on the harness and the arm and the electric wiring is very complicated, even for people who can see what they’re doing.”

Steve is picturing it in his head.

Bucky already has to wear so many contraptions to help him with daily life—the motion detector, his watch, the cane, his slippers—with the additional arm-related gizmos attached to him, he’d be a walking collection of gadgets and straps.

“So you’re not recommending it?”

“Honestly, no, I’m not. I think the costs—not just the financial ones—would outweigh the benefits for him. If you think his mental health is being negatively impacted by not having a prosthetic, that’s another issue, but if he’s fine and progressing well, I think it would be a lot more stress than benefit.”

“So we should wait?”

Rakesha is silent for another moment. “In general, arm amputees who wait too long after the trauma to get a prosthetic end up not liking and don’t use the prosthetic very often. They adapt to living with their residual limbs and they find that the learning curve and dealing with the inconveniences of a prosthetic aren’t worth it. I wouldn’t be surprised if James decides that he’s happier without one.”

So again, he’s being told to just put the issue on the back-burner.

He finishes writing down all the information Rakesha told him, thanks her for her time and hangs up.

He stares at Bucky on the balcony, quietly knitting on his loom, his coffee in the cup holder attached to the swing.

There’s no way he could get through the technical explanations for the different prosthetic options without Bucky getting frustrated.

He’s not even sure Bucky would completely understand the options in the first place.

So…

He’s stuck.

But then he realizes this isn’t an urgent situation. Right now, there’s no way Bucky would feel comfortable enough even getting to the clinic, never mind getting through multiple fitting sessions.

He decides to put the whole thing on hold until Bucky’s comfortable walking around outside.

Whenever that will be.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amazing [LABB](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LABB/pseuds/LABB) has created a wonderful sketch of Steve and Bucky from this story! Do yourself a favor and [go check it out](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10823220)!

Steve’s clicking around on the television, trying to decide between watching a baseball game or an episode of the sabotage-cooking competition show.

“What do we wanna watch, Buck? Baseball or cooking?”

Bucky’s knitting a scarf on his loom, quietly looping the yarn around the pegs. He doesn’t respond to Steve.

Obviously.

“Let’s see, for the game it’s the Jays playing the Red Sox. The Mets ain’t playing, but that might be a good game. Let’s watch that.”

He selects the game and settles back on the couch.

The game is in its fourth inning and the Jays are up to bat.

“Look at that, the Red Soxs are up by three and the Jays have two strikes already. Looks like it ain’t going well for them, huh?”

Bucky shifts the loom between his knees and adjusts one of his loops.

Steve watches the next Jays batter strike out and the teams get ready to swap over.

“Well, that didn’t go well.”

Steve watches the game for a little while longer, but his eyes keep drifting off the screen and staring out the window or thinking about what he needs to add to his grocery order.

When he realizes he’s missed the next inning completely, he shakes himself.

“Jesus, Rogers! You like baseball. Why aren’t you focusing?”

Well, he knows why he’s not focusing.

The reason is sitting on the couch next to him, not even aware that there’s a baseball game going on a few feet from him.

Steve’s only ever watched a handful of baseball games without Buck by his side and he’s never enjoyed them as much as he has when watching with Bucky.

Bucky might technically be sitting next to him now, but Steve’s still watching the game by himself.

Steve stares at Bucky. “I wish you were more comfortable with the spelling, Buck. Do you know we can watch any game we want from any year? You’d love it, and then I’d love it again.”

Bucky’s finished a row of loops and he reaches for his pick tool in his lap. He slowly finds his place on the loom and gently pulls off the bottom loops.

A wave of frustration runs through Steve and before he can get a hold of himself, he’s punching a fist into the couch.

Bucky feels the vibration and pauses, the pick tool frozen mid-air. “You okay, Stevie?”

Steve sighs. “I’m fine, Buck.” He leans over and taps the back of Bucky’s hand.

Bucky still looks puzzled by the strange movement, then he decides maybe Steve’s a bit wound up and gets that familiar leer on his face. “You feeling a bit tense? I can help with that.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

Oh, not this again. “No, Buck. Believe me, I really ain’t in the mood right now.” He takes a deep breath and reaches over to rub the back of Bucky’s hand.

He writes:

I.

Smiley face.

That seems to reassure Bucky. “Okay, good.” He shoots a smile in Steve’s direction and goes back to his loom.

And Steve is back to staring at the baseball game by himself.

The next inning goes by and while Steve may be staring at the television, he’s not paying attention to what’s on it.

His phone lets out a cheerful sound. He’s really not that interested in what the phone has to say, so he lets it sit there for a while.

When he finally decides to check it, he sees that Sam’s sent him a text with a  link.

Steve sighs softly.

Sam’s been sending him daily texts, trying to do his part to keep in touch more.

Again, Steve’s the one not holding up his end of the bargain.

Sam sends him texts, telling him what’s going on in his life and asking him how he and Bucky are doing. Steve is very happy to share updates on Bucky’s progress, but he has no idea what to say when Sam asks him for ‘Steve news’. It’s easier to just send generic smiley faces as responses.

Today Sam’s sent him a link to the [Good News website](http://www.sunnyskyz.com/good-news). Sam’s encouraged Steve to spend time on the website in an effort to raise his spirits, but he must know that Steve doesn’t have the motivation to do it, so he’ll pick stories which he thinks Steve will enjoy.

Today’s story is about an elementary school teacher in North Carolina who raised $80,000 to purchase a bicycle for every single child at the school.

Steve…doesn’t really care.

He knows it’s a very nice thing for the teacher to have done, but he doesn’t feel as connected to the story as he knows he should.

He also knows that’s not good.

“Buck, I’m not doing well,” he says.

Bucky continues working on his knitting.

Steve writes a responding text for Sam: ‘That’s fantastic!’ and adds a bunch of smiley faces. He sends it off.

That’ll hopefully get Sam off his back until tomorrow.

*             *             *

Steve refuses to let the baseball issue go. He knows deep in his gut that he can figure out a way to watch baseball together with Bucky.

He knows he’s not being completely selfish with that desire—he knows Bucky would love to watch baseball again.

But when he asks Bucky about watching baseball with him on the television, Bucky gives him what he probably thinks is a brave smile and informs him it would be great if Steve can tell him the score at the end of each inning.

Despite the lack of intonation, Steve can feel that there’s a hint of resignation in his tone. As if Bucky’s accepted the fact that getting that level of information about the game is as good as he’s ever going to get.

But Steve wants to give him more than that. Baseball is something they’ve always enjoyed together and Steve knows he can find a way to give Bucky more of the game’s action. Steve knows he has no desire to continue watching games by himself. This is something they’ll do together, or not at all.

So he writes:

M-O-R-E.

“More what?”

G-A-M-E.

D-E-T-A-I-L-S.

Buck smiles sadly. “Stevie, that ain’t gonna work. That would be really complicated, and take a long time. I want this to be fun for both of us.”

Steve sighs. “I know, Buck. That’s what I want too. That’s why I wanna give you more than that. We’re in this together.”

He writes:

Y-O-U.

A-N-D.

I.

L-I-N-E.

“Line? What the hell does that mean? What line?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Jerk.”

E-N-D.

O-F.

T-H-E.

L-I-N-E.

“Stevie—” Buck’s voice sounds rough and he’s blinking hard.

Steve adds:

I.

F-I-N-D.

W-A-Y.

And he does.

He spends some time thinking about it and figuring out how he can keep Bucky informed of everything without using too much spelling, but he eventually figures it out.

It takes them several games of practice, and sometimes Steve makes so many mistakes that Bucky gets the completely wrong impression about the game and the score, and it would be too much work for Steve to correct the situation, so he makes up an alternate ending to the game and lets Bucky think whatever he’s thinking.

But with practice Steve does get better.

When they’re both in the mood, Bucky will get one of the small whiteboards and the small containers of smoothly domed and square magnets that they use to play tic-tac-toe while Steve selects a pre-recorded game to watch.

They’ll sit on the couch, line up all their materials. Steve will asks Bucky if he’s ready, and once he’s gotten the confirmation, he’ll press play.

*             *             *

Granderson steps up to bat, plants his feet, adjusts his grip and stares down the Braves pitcher facing him. The pitcher winds up and throws his pitch—and Granderson connects. There’s the satisfying crack of a bat connecting with a ball, and the camera follows the ball sailing over midfield.

Steve leans forward, eyes on Reyes, who had been on second base. Reyes takes off as soon as the ball goes flying, rounds third base and makes it home.

Steve pumps a first into the air. “Yes! One nothing for us.”

Bucky’s leaning into his side and he perks up when he feels Steve move. “What happened?”

Steve picks up the whiteboard from Bucky’s lap and carefully puts down a waxy string from the home plate, tracing the path of the ball. He grabs Bucky’s hand and makes Bucky’s finger trace the path of the string.

“Oh, that’s a good one. Did we bring anybody home? I thought we had somebody on second.”

Tap, tap, tap.

Steve takes Bucky’s hand and together, they pick up the smoothly domed magnet that’s representing Reyes. The magnet is sitting in the little second base square made out of waxy strings, and the magnet and their hands travel along a string pathway to the third base square, then they bring the magnet to the home square.

“Yay! That’s one nothing for us, right?”

Steve taps Bucky’s hand multiple times.

Steve sorts through the magnetic numbers from the box on his lap and picks out the 1. He changes the 0-0 at the top of the whiteboard to read 1-0 and brings Bucky’s hand towards it.

Bucky grins as he runs his hand over it. “Oh, that’s a good way to get things started, huh?”

Tap, tap, tap.

Steve picks up the magnet that had made its way home and they trace its path from home to the second base square, which is where Granderson is now waiting, having rounded first base easily.

Steve’s been listening to the announcer and he looks up in time to see Flores get a nice hit that lands him on first.

He adjusts the waxy string so Bucky can see the path of the ball, then they pick up the magnet and move it from home to the first base square.

Bucky’s frowning. “What about our second base guy? Did he get anywhere?”

Steve chuckles. “You’re nearly a hundred, you’d think you’d have learned a bit of patience, huh? I’m getting to it.”

Together they move the Granderson magnet from second to third.

Bucky makes a displeased noise. “Only one base?”

“It wasn’t that big of a hit, Buck,” Steve says with a small smile.

He realizes that he’d actually missed the next batter while they’d been discussing the previous one, so he picks up the remote and rewinds until he’s reached the end of Granderson’s advance to third, then he hits play.

He’s so damn grateful for modern technology.

Steve’s getting faster and more accurate at translating what’s happening on the screen and Bucky’s getting faster at understanding what Steve is saying, but it’s nice not to feel rushed. He can take his time explaining things to Bucky and making sure he doesn’t miss anything. And if it takes them five hours to watch one game—who’s going to complain?

The board and the magnets allow Bucky to keep track of the current score, strikes and other information without Steve having to repeat himself, and Steve hopes the use of the board allows Bucky to get a more complete picture of what’s happening on the television screen.

Unfortunately their method doesn’t allow Steve to identify players to Bucky, or tell him about funny or unusual situations that occur. It definitely takes some of the joy out of the game for Steve, because chit-chatting about specific players and bad calls by the umps was always one of the things he loved to do with Bucky—but he firmly reminds himself that he wants this to be an enjoyable activity for Bucky, and spelling complex things to him will only frustrate him.

Don’t be a selfish idiot, Rogers.

Bucky loves watching baseball games together and he’s never expressed anything but joy over the method which they use to communicate the game’s events, so Steve forces himself to count this as a win.

*             *             *

Getting to watch baseball again is great. Absolutely fantastic.

Honestly Bucky hadn’t even thought about baseball since he’d come home and when he’d realized that Steve could watch baseball whenever he wanted on the television, there had been an uncomfortable twinge of jealousy in his gut.

But when Steve had informed him that he wanted them to watch baseball together, he’d been cautiously optimistic.

Despite having thirty years of evidence for it, he still can’t believe how creative Steve is. His whole method of using the board, the magnets and the strings is fantastic.

Bucky had been looking forward to learning about the current teams and players. He’d been cautiously hopeful that Steve wouldn’t mind having complex conversations using the finger spelling during games, but while time isn’t an issue during games, Bucky realizes that Steve’s hands must be full with keeping track of what’s happening on the screen and translating it for Bucky. Asking the man to add in details about players and calls would be selfish and would probably add way too much stress on Steve.

So Bucky ruthlessly pushes those selfish thoughts aside. While he may not know what teams are playing, he’s still watching baseball and that’s fantastic enough.

*             *             *

Bucky notices his right shoulder is a bit sore a few weeks after getting home from the APS facility. In fact, his upper back has been a bit sore for a while, but now the soreness is spreading to his lower back and his right shoulder.

And on some days, the soreness is definitely edging towards pain.

He checks the mattress and the couch and he doesn’t find anything hard or sharp that he could be leaning against, and he knows he hasn’t fallen or smacked his shoulder into any doorframes in weeks.

It comes to a head one morning when he’s lifting the frying pan out of the sink after washing it, and his shoulder and upper back erupt into such an intense burst of pain that he drops the frying pan with a surprised shout.

Moments later, he feels Steve’s hands on his shoulders, tense and trembling. He’s scared.

“I—I’m okay. Well, not really, but I’m not in danger. My shoulder and my back have been hurting a bit. I don’t know why.”

Steve’s hands immediately go to what’s left of his left shoulder, gentle fingers running over the area to see if something’s changed.

“No, it’s my right shoulder.”

Steve’s hands move to his right shoulder and gently probe the shoulder. His fingers travel over his upper back, his neck and down to his lower back.

Bucky can tell from the smooth slide of Steve’s hands that he doesn’t feel anything unusual.

“I don’t know what’s wrong. It started a few weeks ago but it’s definitely getting worse.”

Steve reaches around him and fiddles around—probably turning off the water—and he leads Bucky to the couch and has him sit down.

A few minutes later, Steve tugs on Bucky’s shirt. Steve probably wants him to take it off. Bucky grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls up—but as soon as his arm is over his head, that pain flares up in his upper back again and he drops his arm. “Shit, that hurts! Damn it. Steve, I need help, please.”

Steve gently helps to maneuver Bucky around and tugs the shirt off him an inch at a time, trying not to move Bucky’s arm too much. He does have to lift his arm a little—which brings another sharp burst of pain—but as soon as he lower is arm again, the pain becomes manageable. It’s definitely more than a little sore now, but the pain isn’t intense as long as he keeps his arm still.

Steve is gently squeezing and rubbing his thigh, probably not wanting to touch his arm until Bucky’s ready.

Bucky takes a few deep breaths. “It’s okay now. Well, not completely okay, but it’s not that bad. I ain’t putting on a shirt again for a while though. Can we put some ice on it?”

Steve rubs Bucky’s hand and hands him a tube with a screw lid on it. Bucky frowns, running his fingers over it. “What’s this?”

Steve takes it out of his hand.

P-A-I-N.

C-R-E-A-M.

 “Great idea, Rogers. Let’s do it.”

Bucky can smell a strong, medical scent—which he’s always previously associated with Steve being sick—and then Steve’s rubbing cream on his right shoulder and back, gently massaging it in. The cream tingles and feels a little cool, which feels incredible after the bursts of pain.

Steve writes:

S-T-A-Y.

No problem. Bucky stays where he is, and to his surprise, the cream actually works and when he shifts his shoulder a bit, instead of a burst of pain, there’s only the mild soreness it had started as.

Steve checks the progress of the cream from time to time, and eventually writes:

O-K.

Bucky carefully leans back against the couch and lets himself relax. He’s probably getting a bit of the cream on the couch, but he doesn’t care. He’s not putting on a shirt until his arm has stopped being so dumb.

“Steve, I don’t get it. I haven’t done anything to hurt my arm or my back. Why’s it hurting now?”

Steve carefully turns over Bucky’s hand and writes:

D-O-N-T.

K-N-O-W.

“Well, can you check the computer? The pain’s been getting worse for a while. If this keeps up, I’m not gonna be able to use my right arm at all, and then…”

That’s—that’s too horrible to even contemplate, so he doesn’t finish that thought.

Steve settles next to him with the computer, and within a few minutes, he appears to have an answer.

O-V-E-R-U-S-E.

“What? _Overuse_? I’m using my right arm too much? That’s dumb. I’ve been using my right arm my whole life.”

Steve rubs his hand.

N-O.

L-E-F-T.

A-R-M.

N-O-W.

Oh. Well—that actually makes sense. Even while he was with Hydra, he had the prosthetic arm to help him lift and carry things.

For months now he’s been doing everything with just his right arm. But—

“But I haven’t been doing a lot of heavy work with my right arm. It’s not _that_ weak.”

Rub, rub, rub.

D-I-S-H-E-S.

D-R-E-S-S-I-N-G.

S-T-A-N-D-I-N-G.

U-P.

That’s another good point. He used to do all those things with two arms so he was able to distribute the work between his arms. Now his right arm has taken over all those tasks.

“Okay, that makes sense. I’ve been a bit hard on my right arm, but that’s the way it’s gotta be. I gotta use my right arm! My arm will just have to get used to it. I’ll work through the pain and hopefully my arm will get over it.”

Rub, rub, rub.

B-A-D.

I-D-E-A.

Now Bucky’s annoyed. “I ain’t gonna stop using my right arm, Steve! That’s—that’s not happening. That’s not possible. That ain’t an option, okay?”

*             *             *

Steve sighs. “Obviously that ain’t an option, Buck. Jesus.” He taps Bucky’s hand to illustrate his agreement.

He looks back at the computer. The websites are very clear. The first step is to allow the muscles to heal, and the second step is to build up the muscles with stretches and exercises to prevent future overuse injuries.

But telling Buck that he won’t be able to use his arm for a few days won’t be a good conversation.

“Okay, Buck. Don’t get into too big of a snit, okay? Here we go.”

He writes:

M-U-S-T.

L-E-T.

H-E-A-L.

“Sure, I can do that. I won’t wash the heavy pots and pans for a few days.”

Steve sighs. “No, Buck. That ain’t gonna be enough.”

N-O.

D-I-S-H-E-S.

Unsurprisingly, Bucky gets a mulish look on his face. He opens his mouth to argue, but Steve beats him to it.

N-O.

P-E-R-M.

I-N-J-U-R-Y.

When Bucky’s facial expression only softens a bit, Steve adds a ‘P-L-E-A-S-E’.

Finally Bucky sighs. “ _Fine_. No dishes. What about other things?”

“Buck, you know the answer to that.” Steve doesn’t bother replying, he just watches Bucky’s face.

Bucky’s slightly hopeful expression deflates. “Fine. I’ll be a completely useless lump until it’s healed. Then what? How do we stop this from happening again?”

“We gotta start doing some exercising, Buck. We’ve been way too lazy since we’ve come home.”

He writes:

E-X-E-R-C-I-S-E.

Bucky’s nodding, seeming to be onboard with that. “That makes sense. Okay. I’ll be a good patient, I promise. I don’t promise not to get into a few snits, but I’ll do my best.”

“That’s all I need, buddy.” Steve squeezes Bucky’s hand in gratitude and kisses his cheek, careful not to jostle him too much.

*             *             *

It takes Bucky’s muscles two more days to heal. They are an incredibly frustrating two days for both of them.

Even leaning on his arm to get out of bed is painful for Bucky, so from the time he wakes up, he needs Steve’s help for everything.

Steve wraps an arm around his waist and helps him out of bed, helps him shower, brushes his teeth for him and even feeds him. Multiple times a day Steve rubs the muscle relaxant on which helps dull the pain.

Bucky is allowed to knit with his loom and build with his blocks, but only if Steve is helping him so he’s not moving his arm too much.

Bucky manages to keep his temper most of the time, and Steve tries to be as comforting as possible, but Bucky’s thrilled on the morning when he manages to gently lift his arm above his head and it’s only mildly sore.

He’s not an idiot. He continues taking it easy for a few more days—letting Steve do the dishes and doing his best to move his entire body closer to items rather than extending his arm unnecessarily—but eventually the pain completely fades.

“Alright, my arm feels good. Now let’s figure out some stretches and exercises. I ain’t doing this again.”

So Steve orders some exercise equipment for them and looks up stretches and exercises which would specifically target Bucky’s back and shoulders.

Bucky realizes the situation was a blessing in disguise. Both of them haven’t been exercising since he’d come home, and they need to keep their bodies more active.

Steve gets an exercise bike which allows Bucky to sit comfortable and pedal with his legs without the risk of falling over or getting dizzy. Steve attaches elastic bands to the ceiling and Bucky can do different exercises with that. He starts every morning by gently stretching and focusing on getting his shoulders and back loose. He does a couple of exercises with the elastic band, building up the muscles. Then he spends time on the exercise bike and has a shower while Steve cooks breakfast. Steve usually jumps on the bike when Bucky’s doing the dinner dishes.

The end result is exactly what Bucky hoped it would be.

He can feel his upper back and right shoulder getting stronger, and when he goes back to doing the heavy dishes and dressing himself, there’s no more pain.

Lesson learned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Next week: It's time for the boys to go outside!
> 
> 2\. The [Good News website](http://www.sunnyskyz.com/good-news) which featured in this chapter is a treasure. It only features positive, heart-warming stories from around the world and its updated daily. There's also [this one](http://www.goodnewsnetwork.org/) which focuses more on positive things which people are creating/inventing.
> 
> 3\. Did you check out the [amazing art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10823220) that [LABB](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LABB/pseuds/LABB) created for this story?? You really should! It's amazing. You should check out LABB's other Steve and Bucky sketches too - they're all incredible.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for Bucky and Steve to go outside for a walk! Sounds simple...right?
> 
> First, I want to thank [Kawherp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kawherp/pseuds/kawherp) for helping me improve Bucky and Steve's walking-outside scenes. These scenes are so much better than they were originally, and it's all thanks to you!
> 
> Second, the wonderful [LABB](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LABB/pseuds/LABB) has created another amazing sketch for this story! [The sketch](http://i.imgur.com/iDyYGsn.jpg) shows Bucky and Steve cuddling in bed, with Bucky's pillow wall and Steve wearing his leather Morse Code bracelet. Don't worry, it's completely safe-for-work. It's adorable and incredible all at the same time!

They’re playing a new game that Steve’s bought, called Mancala.

It takes Steve forever to explain the rules and objectives of the game, but once Bucky gets it, he likes it.

It doesn’t include any communication with your playing partner which makes it a bit easier, but Steve knows Bucky does need to concentrate if he wants to do well. Like most of their other games, Bucky can either turn his brain off and just move pieces randomly around, but if he wants to do well, he has to fire up the old brain and focus.

It always amuses Steve when he realizes that Bucky thinks he’s doing a great job of hiding the fact that he’s not paying attention while they’re playing a game. Steve has known what Bucky’s ‘concentration face’ looks like for nearly 30 years, and it hasn’t changed. If Bucky’s too tired to properly pay attention, Steve will go through a few rounds for appearance sake and then he’ll lie and tell him he has to go do something else, so Bucky doesn’t feel like he’s letting Steve down when they stop playing.

Steve likes playing these games because he likes to see Bucky having fun—so if Bucky is clearly too tired to be enjoying himself, it takes all the joy out of it for Steve too.

But Bucky’s getting more confident every day, which means he has more and more stamina when it comes to playing without his sight or hearing or left hand.

Today’s one of the days where Bucky is really making Steve work at doing well. When they’re playing checkers, Steve usually—secretly—plays with a blindfold on so they’re both working with the same disadvantages, but Mancala doesn’t require Bucky to keep a clear picture of the entire board in his head as he plays, so Steve doesn’t feel guilty over playing with his eyes in full use.

Bucky’s currently winning, having grabbed a cup full of stones which allowed him to go around the board twice and get two winning stones into his collection cup.

“Damn you, Barnes,” Steve mumbles. He spells out ‘J-E-R-K’ on Bucky’s hand and rolls his eyes at Bucky’s pleased smirk.

“You’re just jealous, Rogers.”

“Get your fat head out of the clouds and back down here or I’m gonna have to sneak some of those winning stones into my own cup.”

It’s depressing that Steve can’t tell Bucky that entire threat—he thinks it’s a funny one, and Bucky would no doubt agree. Bucky knows as well as he does that Steve would never cheat in a way that wouldn’t be blatantly obvious to Bucky. Steve would be doing it more for the laughs than an actual attempt to get a dishonorable win.

But it would take way too long to communicate such a complex sentence, and Bucky needs to concentrate on the game.

So Steve settles for flicking Bucky on the nose and ignores his outraged squawk while he focuses on doing his own turn.

When they’re done playing, Bucky heads out onto the balcony, and Steve puts together a grocery list. He usually puts together their list on Monday evening so they’ll get their delivery on Tuesday. He drops the pad of paper on the table, sits down and starts listing the things he knows they need.

He gets stuck on whether they need eggs or not. He can’t remember how many were left in the carton after he made breakfast that morning.

He looks over at the icebox. It feels way too far away at the moment. He’s feeling really lazy and he doesn’t want to walk all the way over there to check.

“Buck, do we need eggs?”

Of course, he gets no response. Bucky’s sitting on the porch swing and the door’s wide open, but that doesn’t help.

Obviously.

“Buck, I’m too lazy to check the icebox.”

Nothing.

Steve’s busy glaring at the icebox and shaking his head at his own silliness, when Bucky suddenly comes back inside.

Bucky carefully makes his way across the living room and passes right by Steve at the table…

…and goes to the icebox. He opens it and starts feeling around inside it.

“Buck, check the eggs!” The sentence is out of Steve’s mouth before his brain catches up.

He snorts at himself. “You’re an idiot, Rogers.”

He can’t believe he’s still make these mistakes.

He remembers it had taken nine year old Bucky Barnes a few months to remember that Steve had lost his hearing in his left ear. It hadn’t made much difference in their day-to-day conversations, unless Bucky was trying to whisper into his ear.

At the beginning, Bucky would forget all the time and try to whisper into Steve’s left ear.

Steve would always give Bucky an unimpressed look and say: “Not that one, Buck, use my good one!”

Then Bucky would smack himself in the forehead, annoyed with himself for having forgotten. Then he’d scramble over to Steve’s other side so he could whisper in his right ear.

Steve can’t remember exactly how long it had taken until Bucky wasn’t making those mistakes any more, but either way, Steve’s still annoyed that he keeps forgetting.

He watches Bucky pull out a can of sprite, which is his new favourite soda. Bucky carefully stuffs it into his pocket and then makes his way back to the balcony with his cane in his hand.

Steve realizes he could have gotten Bucky’s attention as he passed by the table! He could have asked him to check how many eggs they have.

But then he realizes that question may have been too complex for Bucky to understand.

‘How many eggs left’ would have left him confused—maybe he’d assume Steve is asking about his breakfast. Steve would have to explain that he’s making the grocery list first. Then he’d have to ask if Bucky can check the eggs in the icebox.

Way too much work for a man who just wanted a can of soda.

Steve stares at Bucky carefully stepping over the door frame and back out on the balcony.

Looks like he’s on his own for grocery list compiling.

Well, it’s not like he’s not on his own for most other things during the day too.

That’s just how things are now.

…But no matter how many times he reminds himself of that, he never feels better about it.

He’d been in a relatively good mood while they were playing Mancala, but it’s definitely fading now.

He thinks about turning on the television, or checking to see if Sam’s emailed him something cute or funny, but the more he thinks about doing those things, the more he realizes he really doesn’t want to.

So he spends a few hours sitting on the couch, doing nothing, just staring at the dark television.

It no longer surprises or alarms him when he doesn’t feel bored or annoyed at himself for just sitting here, being lazy.

It’s not that he enjoys sitting here doing nothing.

He just…doesn’t care.

He knows that’s not a good sign, but there’s no easy fix, so he decides to keep that whole thing to himself.

He doesn’t want to upset any of the people who care about him, so it’s best to keep these things to himself.

*             *             *

“Hey, Rogers, you think I’m ready to go outside? Not the balcony. I mean the real outside.” Bucky asks, fishing a set of connected wheels out of the ‘miscellaneous parts’ building blocks container and pressing them on to the bottom of the truck he’s building. The balcony door’s open and Bucky’s enjoying the cool fall breeze on his face as he works.

He knows Steve’s sitting on the couch so he waits patiently, pressing another set of wheels onto the truck. He feels a hand touch his shoulder, then his hand. While he knows that it has to be Steve, it’s instinctual now to feel for the bracelet.

He follows the hand that’s touching him up to the wrist and finds the leather bracelet with the circles and lines cut into it.

Bead. Di, di, dit. Dah…

Steve.

The truck is taken out of his grasp and Steve spells on his hand.

Y-O-U-R.

C-H-O-I-C-E.

“I know it’s my choice, but I wanna know if _you_ think we’re ready for that. I’m gonna need a lot of help.”

Steve holds his hand for quite a while before Bucky feels a hesitant tap.

“I think we can do it, Rogers. And if I freak out and it’s too hard, then we come back inside and try again later.”

T-A-K-E.

H-A-C-K-I-E.

Question mark.

“If you wanna take a hackie, we can. But I’d really like to hoof it.” He takes a breath. He curls his fingers over Steve’s and gives him a squeeze. “Stevie, even if I get scared, I really want us to work on this. I feel good in the apartment and I think I’m ready to start going out regularly. It ain’t normal that we’re home all the time, Stevie. I know you’ve been doing it for my sake and I’m ready to go out more.”

A hesitant question mark.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure. Can we—how about you find us a park somewhere close by and we can walk there? That’ll be a good first trip.”

Steve isn’t moving. Bucky grabs his hand and gives it a shake. “Come on, Rogers! I really think I can do it. And if I can’t, then I’ll have you right there. You’ll be my eyes and ears and you’ll get me home. I ain’t worried.”

Another hesitation.

Then:

Steve’s thumb is pressed against his fingers. Okay.

Satisfied, Bucky turns back to his truck and carefully parks the truck in the driveway of the apartment building he’s working on. He’s built the entire first floor already, but he got a bit bored of that, so he’d focused on making some vehicles and working on the garden. Now he’s ready for the second floor.

He shifts over and feels for the container with the thin, double six pieces. He takes one out and carefully attaches it over the first apartment’s walls, creating part of the next level’s floor.

By the time Steve touches his hand and hands him what he identifies as his jacket, he’s finished the entire second level’s floor.

“You found a park?”

Tap.

“Okay, let’s do this.”

Steve squeezes his hand and spells out ‘W-A-I-T’.

“Okay. Wait for what?”

N-O.

C-A-N-E.

Bucky waits for the question mark. Once Steve has finished asking the question, Bucky will be telling him that of course he’s bringing his cane.

But there’s no question mark.

“What do you mean ‘no cane’? Of course I’m bringing my cane. How am I supposed to know where I’m going if I don’t have my cane with me?”

Steve squeezes his hand.

L-E-T.

M-E.

L-E-A-D.

Bucky makes a face. “I’m the one who wants to go outside, Steve. It’s stupid that you gotta go with me at all—I don’t want you having to do all the work.”

Rub, rub, rub.

I.

W-A-N-T.

T-O.

Bucky sighs. “We can do both, can’t we? I can walk with my cane and I’ll follow your lead.”

Rub, rub, rub.

T-O-O.

M-U-C-H.

What? Too much of what? “What are you talking about?”

T-O-O.

M-U-C-H.

S-T-R-E-S-S.

Bucky thinks it over.

Maybe— _maybe_ —Steve has a point.

If he’s walking with his cane, he has to focus on where the cane is and what it’s telling him. Being outside will probably involve a lot of stressful situations, and leaving the cane at home will take away a lot of that stress.

Maybe for the first trip, he’ll let Steve lead.

“Alright. We’ll leave the cane at home and see how it goes. But if I do well, I wanna start using the cane.”

Tap, tap, tap.

He feels Steve pull his head closer and then he feels a kiss on his forehead.

“Yeah, yeah. Come on, let’s get going.”

He feels Steve walk away, and moments later the motion sensor on his arm vibrates in a familiar pattern—Steve’s closed the balcony door. Another vibration with a different pattern—Steve’s closed a window. Must be the one in the bedroom.

When Steve’s back, Bucky holds out his arm and feels Steve undoing the velcro strap on his arm and pulling the motion sensor off. Steve pulls him to his feet and Bucky slips his arm into his jacket and carefully does up the buttons. Steve has attached snap buttons onto Bucky’s zippered jackets so he can close his jackets by himself now. Zippers are a two handed job.

At first Steve had kept the empty left sleeves of his jackets and sweaters pinned to the torso portion—but Steve always had to adjust the sleeves when they got loose, so eventually Bucky had asked him to just cut off all the left sleeves. Steve had kept a bit of the sleeves and sewn the openings shut.

With his jacket on, Bucky heads for the door. He slides into one running shoe, pulls the elastic coiled shoelaces tight on both sides, then does the other shoe.

His shoelaces are something he had fought with Steve over. Although he hadn’t needed to put on his running shoes since he’d been taken to that facility, he knew this day would come so he’d tried learning how to tie his shoes by himself.

Bucky spent days sitting on the floor with his running shoes on his feet, twisting himself into a pretzel and trying to use his hand, feet and teeth to tie the laces into something resembling a knot.

Getting the laces into the first knot wasn’t hard—but pulling it tight was damn near impossible. He finally figured out he could step on one lace with the other foot and pull the other lace with his hand. But then came the loops—and with only one arm and no sight, that was beyond him at that point.

He’d gotten more and more frustrated with the whole thing.

Tying his own shoes is something so simple that he doesn’t even remember how old he was when he’d learned to do it as a child, and not being able to do it now makes him feel dumb.

He absolutely refused to let Steve do it for him. Just the idea of Steve having to tie his shoes for him for the rest of his life made him feel useless.

So he was in a snit for a few days, ignoring Steve’s attempts to tell him about different types of shoe fastening methods which they had access to these days.

Finally, Steve got it through his head that this wasn’t the best use of Bucky’s energy and annoyance. He’s got so many other things to learn and master so if there’s an easy way to cross something off his list, he might as well take it. Steve tells him it’s not giving up, it’s being practical. Bucky should conserve his energy for learning something that can’t be easily adjusted.

So Bucky had given Steve permission to purchase [elastic coiled shoelaces](http://www.arthritissupplies.com/coilers-elastic-shoelaces.html), and he hasn’t thought about his shoelaces since.

He checks to make sure the laces are tight and his jacket buttons are all done up.

He’s ready.

“I’m ready. Hurry up, old man.”

He feels Steve bump into him.

Alright, time to do this.

But instead of moving towards the door, Steve wraps his arms around Bucky’s waist and turns him to face Steve.

Steve’s tense and when Bucky raises his hand and runs it over his face, he can feel that he’s chewing on his lower lip and he’s got a frown on his face. Bucky gently tugs his lower lip free and smooths a thumb over the frown lines.

“It’ll be okay, Stevie. I promise. I’m ready for this,” he says. He leans forward and rubs his nose against Steve’s and kisses him. “But we don’t gotta go if you don’t wanna.”

He feels Steve shaking his head. His hand is moved to tap Steve’s chest, then Steve’s thumb is pressed against his fingers. He’s okay.

It’s not a smiley face, but it’s also not a frowny face, so Bucky will take it.

“Alright. Let’s do this.”

He gives him another kiss and turns back to the door. He pulls it open and heads through, pausing on the other side for Steve to lock the door.

He feels Steve take his hand and wrap his fingers into the crook of Steve’s elbow.

“What a gentleman you are, Steve Rogers. Lead the way.”

Bucky follows along as Steve heads down the hallway to the front door. It feels weird to be walking without the comfort of the cane sweeping the area in front of him, but he forces himself to relax.

It’s not like Steve’s gonna let him trip over anything.

But maybe Steve can tell that he’s feeling a bit nervous, because he’s walking really slowly and he’s squeezing Bucky’s hand with his right hand from time to time.

They make it down the hallway and Steve comes to a stop.

“What’s going on?”

Steve takes Bucky’s hand off his arm and spells out ‘D-O-O-R’.

“Can we do symbol for that? It takes too long if you have to spell out the whole thing.”

So Steve writes a capital letter ‘D’ on his hand. Instead of putting Bucky’s hand back on his arm, Steve holds onto Bucky’s arm instead and gently pulls Bucky close to him. They shuffle through the door like that. Bucky carefully slides his feet along instead of picking them up, which is how he finds the doorframe before he trips over it. He feels unsteady on his feet and he’s very grateful for Steve’s tight grip on him.

He kind of wishes he had his cane.

Bucky can tell the moment he steps outside. There’s a breeze on his face and he can smell car exhaust and the slight dampness from a morning rainfall.

He’s a bit confused when Steve pulls him sideways instead of continuing forward. He’s about to ask what he’s doing, when he feels Steve take his hand off his arm and wrap his fingers around a familiar metal railing.

Great. He remembers these stairs.

“Steve, these are stairs, right?”

Tap.

“I think we’re gonna have to deal with a lot of those. Can you do an S for it?”

Steve pauses, then he pulls Bucky’s hand off the railing and writes a capital ‘S’ on his palm.

“That’s good. How many are there?”

Pause.

Then:

Number symbol to indicate a number. Steve counts off eight fingers on Bucky’s hand.

1…2…3…4…5…6…7…8.

“8 steps?”

Tap.

“Okay. This is gonna be slow but I can do it.”

Tap, tap, tap.

P-L-E-A-S-E.

S-L-O-W.

Bucky smiles. “Don’t worry, Rogers. I ain’t gonna be jumping down these steps three at a time. Just promise you’ll try to catch me if I fall.”

Tap, tap, tap.

A-L-W-A-Y-S.

Then Bucky feels Steve wrap his arms around him and give him a tight hug. Steve kisses his cheek, puts Bucky’s hand back on the railing and steps back.

He feels Steve step around him—hopefully pausing on the step below so he’ll be in a good position to catch him if he falls.

He hopes Steve understood that Bucky wasn’t trying to be cute with his request.

Bucky gives the railing a hard pull to make sure it’s sturdy, then he slides one foot towards the drop off.

The motions are vaguely familiar since it’s the second time he’s doing this. It also helps knowing that Steve is right there…

…but now that Steve is no longer touching him, it doesn’t _feel_ like Steve is right there. Steve said he’d be close by—but now that he’s surrounded by darkness, Steve might as well be standing across the street. The fear is slowly creeping back in.

Sure, he knows he’s only got 8 steps to do, but he’s not ready to do it completely alone. Not when he’s stepping down into the darkness.

“Stevie? Can you—can you come back up here? I—This is a bit—I’m—”

There’s small rush of air, and then he’s got one of Steve’s arms wrapped around him and Bucky’s nose is bumping into Steve’s cheek. Bucky’s guessing Steve’s other hand is on the railing.

He takes a deep breath. He immediately feels better with Steve touching him. Steve’s hand is gently rubbing his back and Bucky feels Steve’s breath against his cheek. He’s talking to Bucky, probably saying reassuring things.

Slowly, the fear fades.

“Can we do it with you touching me? I know you gotta hold the railing, but can you keep your other hand on me?”

Steve steps back a bit, brushes a kiss on Bucky’s cheek, then tightly wraps his hand in Bucky’s jacket. His grip is pulling the jacket tight so Bucky can feel it.

Now he knows that Steve is really right there. That makes him feel much more confident about this whole thing.

He shifts his focus back to the stairs, now that he’s got Steve’s comforting grip on his jacket. He slides his foot towards the drop-off again and stays calm when his foot is off the step and dropping down through nothing. His foot touches the top of the first step and he moves his other foot to join it.

He adjusts his grip on the railing and moves his foot again. He can feel Steve’s grip on his jacket shift a bit as Steve moves a step down too.

Definitely not as scary, but he knows his days of jumping down steps three at a time are behind him permanently.

But one step at a time is doable, especially if he’s got the railing and Steve helping him.

*             *             *

Steve stays one step below Bucky, keeping one of his hands on the railing and gripping Bucky’s jacket with the other. He’s actually glad that Bucky asked for Steve to hold on to him. This way Steve has a much better chance of preventing Bucky from tumbling head first down the steps if he stumbles.

“Nice and slow, Buck. Please,” he mutters.

Bucky keeps a good grip on the railing and moves very slowly.

It must be very disorienting to be stepping down into a dark abyss.

“You’re doing so good, buddy. You’re amazing.” He wishes he could tell Bucky how proud he is of him, but Bucky’s hand needs to stay on the railing, so now is not a good time to talk to him.

Bucky’s on the third step when Steve hears somebody call to them from the sidewalk.

“Oh, sir? Do you need help? Here, let me help!”

A moment later, a man jumps up the steps next to Steve and reaches for Bucky.

Steve panics—he can’t let go of Bucky or the railing and he doesn’t have a third arm—so he twists his body, putting himself between the man and Bucky. “Hey! Sir, no, he doesn’t need any help. Please don’t touch him. You’ll just startle him.”

The man flails his arms to catch his balance and frowns at Steve. “I wasn’t talking to you!”

Steve spares the man one glance but then focuses back on Bucky. “He can’t hear you, sir, he’s deaf.”

“But—being deaf doesn’t make going down the stairs hard. He’s having a hard time going down the stairs.” The man’s speaking slowly as if Steve is really, really dumb.

Steve swallows a sigh and desperately hopes the man will leave them alone. “He’s deafblind. That’s why he’s taking his time with the steps. Sir, please stay back. I need to be focused on helping him.”

The man glares at him. “You call that help? He’s obviously having a hard time! You’re not being helpful at all, grabbing his jacket like that.”

“I’m giving him all the help he—”

“You’re being way too rough with him!”

Bucky’s made it to the sixth step—completely oblivious to what’s happening right under his nose—Steve and the man keeping pace with him and staying two steps below him.

Steve clenches his jaw. He realizes the man’s just trying to be helpful, but Jesus, this kind of helpful isn’t actually helpful. And he’s had enough of people accusing him of abusing Bucky.

“Sir, I’m not being rough with him. He’s trying to learn how to get down these stairs by himself. Believe me, I’m giving him the help he wants. Please, leave us alone. I need to stay focused.”

Steve decides to ignore the man and watches as Bucky makes it to the bottom of the steps. Steve knows Bucky has been keeping track of how many steps he’s done, so after taking a few careful steps to verify that he is on level ground, a smile appears on his face. “Look at us getting down the stairs together! Always a great team, aren’t we?”

Bucky lets go of the railing and Steve pulls him close, pressing their foreheads together. “Damn straight we do.” He taps Bucky on the back multiple times. He presses his face against Bucky’s so he can feel his lips moving. “I’m so proud of you. That was so good.”

Bucky’s smiling, obviously pleased with himself. He wraps his arm around Steve’s waist. “I’m proud of you too, Rogers. You’re doing great! I know you would have liked to just carry me down the steps, huh? But you let me do it my way. You’re a peach.”

Steve notices the man has taken several steps back when Steve had pulled Bucky into his arms and the man’s frowning at them.

Maybe he’s frowning because Bucky just told him exactly what Steve had told him.

Maybe he’s frowning because he’s not a fan of such displays of affection.

Maybe he’s frowning because they’re both men.

Whatever. Steve couldn’t care less.                     

Bucky just got down the stairs with only minimal help from Steve.

That’s a great start!

*             *             *

Bucky is very proud of himself when he gets to the bottom of the stairs by himself.

This is doable. This whole thing is completely doable.

Steve hooks Bucky’s hand back onto his arm and they slowly make their way down the sidewalk.

Bucky smiles.

This is familiar.

Heading into the unknown—Bucky Barnes on Steve Rogers’ left side.

Although the reasons behind it are now flipped, it’s nice to see the universe has a sense of humor.

They make their way down the sidewalk. Bucky’s enjoying the different smells around him—car exhaust, wind, food. Bucky’s thinking this is really not as hard as he thought it would be—

—and that’s when he suddenly trips.

His feet get tangled up, his heart’s in his throat and he’s falling face-first towards the pavement—but he manages to tighten his grip on Steve’s arm. He feels Steve’s other arm grabbing him, and instead of hitting the pavement, Bucky hits Steve’s chest.

“Shit! What the fuck? What did I trip on?!”

He manages to right himself, and now that he’s got a tight grip on Steve’s jacket and his feet are back under him, he starts to calm. He takes several deep breaths.

“Jesus Christ, that wasn’t fun.”

Unlike him, Steve is not calming. Bucky can feel he’s trembling and his arms are tight around Bucky. “Stevie, I’m fine. It scared me a bit, but you caught me. It’s okay.”

He frees his hand from Steve’s arm and touches his face. “You wanna go back home?”

He feels Steve shaking his head.

“Alright. You wanna keep going?”

Steve doesn’t answer for a moment, then Bucky feels his arms loosening around him. Steve steps back a bit and firmly loops Bucky’s arm back through his. Then he taps Bucky’s hand.

Steve’s ready to keep going.

But when they resume walking, Bucky realizes Steve may have gotten over his fright, but Bucky hasn’t.

He takes a few steps, but that familiar fear races through him and he finds his feet shuffling along in tiny increments.

Don’t be ridiculous, Barnes. You’re not going back to shuffling around everywhere, damn it!

But despite his stern internal admonishments, the fear keeps his feet glued to the sidewalk.

He has no idea what he’d tripped on, but he’s realizing that there are so many unknowns around him!

Unlike in their apartment, Bucky doesn’t know what the ground is like out here.

The darkness out here is cold, scary and full of hidden dangers.

He opens his mouth, ready to tell Steve that he’s changed his mind and he wants to go back home.

But he catches the words before they come out.

He _has_ to do this. He has to be braver and give it a better try. He can’t spend the rest of his life inside their apartment. That’s not the kind of life he wants for himself.

Besides, Steve is here. Steve won’t let anything happen to him.

“Stevie?”

Steve taps his hand and they stop walking.

“It’s—I—I’m scared. I don’t like not knowing what’s in front of me. But I wanna keep going.”

Steve squeezes his hand and runs his other hand up Bucky’s arm to his neck. His thumb is gently rubbing under Bucky’s ear.

Steve spells out:

A-R-E.

Y-O-U.

S-U-R-E.

Question mark.

No. No, he’s not, but he refuses to give up. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s keep going a bit. But can you hold on tight?”

Steve taps on Bucky’s hand and pulls his arm through Steve’s. Steve clamps his arm against his side so Bucky’s arm is tightly squeezed against Steve’s body.

Alright, at least now Bucky is reasonably sure that if he trips over something and his feet don’t cooperate, Steve will be able to keep him from hitting the pavement.

“Okay, let’s try again.”

Steve takes a step forward and Bucky shuffles to keep up. His heart is still thudding in his chest and the fear is sticking in his throat, but he forces his feet to keep shuffling along.

They’re moving very, very slowly, but as long as Bucky’s shuffling along, he’s pretty sure he’ll be able to detect things which he might trip over.

He feels how uneven the pavement is beneath his feet. There are rougher patches and then smoother patches. There are bumps and cracks and little stones and other things he can’t identify.

He’s so focused on his feet that he nearly has a heart attack when something suddenly slams into his left shoulder. The impact jerks Bucky half way around, but his grip on Steve keeps him upright. Instead, his feet get tangled again.

Immediately, Steve’s arm tightens and his other arm grabs Bucky’s jacket to hold him steady.

Bucky wants to cry. This is way too much! What the hell hit him?

He can’t—he can’t do this if he’s going to have mysterious things slam into him from all sides!

“What—what was that?”

Steve stops them and gently pulls Bucky’s fingers loose from their death grip on Steve’s arm. He squeezes Bucky’s trembling hand and Bucky feels a kiss on the palm of his hand.

Steve spells out:

S-O-R-R-Y.

P-E-R-S-O-N.

P-A-S-S-I-N-G.

Oh. Bucky’s forgotten all about that. Unlike in their safe, cozy apartment, he has to deal with strange people out here on the street.

Jesus Christ.

Not only does he have to worry about what’s under his feet, but he has to worry about what’s around him!

It’s exactly like how he felt when he’d first come home, when everything around him was unknown and frightening.

He’s even closer to telling Steve that he wants to go back home—

—but Steve’s still spelling on his palm.

I.

W-I-L-L.

W-A-T-C-H.

B-E-T-T-E-R.

Well…that might help.

Bucky knows he’s not nearly as scared of walking around as he was at the beginning. If Steve promises to watch out for things around him, then maybe this is doable?

“You promise? You won’t let people bump into me?”

I.

T-R-Y.

H-A-R-D.

P-R-O-M-I-S-E.

“Squeeze my hand if we can’t avoid having somebody bump into me, okay?”

Tap, tap, tap.

“And you’ll keep an eye on the ground and steer me around things I can trip on?”

I.

T-R-Y-.

H-A-R-D.

P-R-O-M-I-S-E.

“You really promise? You’ll do your best?”

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.

T-R-Y.

V-E-R-Y.

H-A-R-D.

Then Steve’s squeezing his hand and Bucky feels a kiss on his cheek.

“Okay. Let’s keep going.”

Steve tightly wraps Bucky’s arm around his arm and Steve slowly starts forward again.

Bucky shuffles after him. He’s still mainly focused on what his feet are doing, but he does notice that Steve often slows down and gently pulls Bucky to one side or another.

Bucky doesn’t know exactly what obstacle Steve is helping him avoid, but it doesn’t matter. As long as he doesn’t have to deal with the obstacle, he doesn’t care about it.

At one point, Steve squeezes Bucky’s hand, and moments later, something brushes past him.

It’s not the rough hit from before, and having gotten the warning from Steve helps Bucky brace himself. It’s definitely not as a much of a scary shock as before.

It’s still very disconcerting to be touched by something when he doesn’t know exactly what or who it is, but at least he can mentally brace himself for it.

He’s still fearful of tripping over things, but Steve is letting him shuffle along at his own pace, which Bucky’s grateful for. This is his first time outside—he doesn’t have to get everything perfect on the first try, right?

Right.

They’re fine until they get to a spot where Steve stops walking. Bucky nearly walks past him, but when he feels that Steve’s arm has stopped moving, he stops too.

“What’s going on? Why did we stop?

He feels Steve pull his hand off his arm, and his hand being turned palm up. Then:

C-U-R-B.

Oh.

Jesus. Another new thing to deal with. Well, first thing’s first:

“Can we do a symbol for that? I’m assuming we’re gonna have a lot of those.”

Steve thinks for a second, then he writes a capital letter ‘C’ on the back of his hand.

“Perfect. Thanks.”

Bucky goes to step forward but Steve tightens his grip on his arm. Bucky so frazzled and focused on his feet and his fear that he doesn’t understand why Steve is stopping because of a curb.

It takes a few seconds before Bucky’s brain puts it together.

A curb means the sidewalk is ending.

The sidewalk ending means they have to cross the street.

Crossing the street means cars.

Oh, God.

He hasn’t thought about this part.

Dealing with the sidewalk is hard enough. But now they have to _leave_ the sidewalk?!

The idea of stepping off the safety of the sidewalk and into the street with cars zooming around makes his heart clench with panic.

He can’t see or hear the cars—what if they don’t stop? What if he gets hit?? What if both he and Steve get hit?? Sure, there’s the traffic light—but what if the driver is stupid or not paying attention and drives though the red light? Bucky won’t be able to see or hear him coming.

This is too much. He’s using the last of his bravery just standing here—he doesn’t think he has enough left to deal with crossing the street.

“Steve, I change my mind. I’m sorry. I can’t do this today. I wanna go home. Please, let’s go home.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We continue with our walking adventure! Enjoy!
> 
> The always incredible [LABB](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LABB/pseuds/LABB) has created a [beautiful sketch](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10823220/chapters/24541614) for this chapter, showing Steve and Bucky at the crosswalk.

“Steve, I change my mind. I’m sorry. I can’t do this today. I wanna go home. Please, let’s go home.”

Steve’s heart nearly breaks at the sadness in Bucky’s voice. He sounds completely dejected.

Steve can count on one hand how many times he’s heard Bucky Barnes sound like this and he’d still have fingers leftover.

Steve pulls Bucky’s hand off his arm and runs his hands up his neck to his face. [He gently cups Bucky’s face and rubs his cheeks with his thumbs](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10823220/chapters/24541614). “Buck, you can do this. I know you can. You’ve been so brave so far.”

He kisses Bucky’s forehead and gently takes his hand. He wishes he could communicate with Bucky better so he could tell him all these things, but as it stands, he has to choose his words carefully.

Y-O-U.

C-A-N.

D-O.

T-H-I-S.

Bucky’s sighing and shaking his head. “I don’t—”

I.

K-N-O-W.

K-N-O-W.

K-N-O-W.

Bucky’s still shaking his head. “Steve, this is too hard. There’s too much going on.”

Steve hesitates. While he’d be happy to turn them around and go back home, he knows that giving up at this stage will be a huge hit to Bucky’s confidence. He’s worked too hard to take such a big hit.

P-L-E-A-S-E.

T-R-Y.

“Steve—”

J-U-S-T.

L-I-T-T-L-E.

M-O-R-E.

Bucky sighs heavily. He seems to be thinking it over.

Somebody brushes past Bucky and Steve can see the panic on his face as he cringes from the unexpected contact. Damn it! Steve isn’t doing his job! “Shit! Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Rogers, you said you’d watch out! You ain’t doing it.” Bucky sounds close to tears.

Steve squeezes Bucky’s hand, spells out ‘S-O-R-R-Y’ and pulls Bucky into his arms. He pulls them close together so the people walking past them have more room to pass around them without bumping into Bucky. He really wants to shuffle over so they’re not in the middle of the sidewalk, but he doesn’t want to add to Bucky’s stress by making him move right now.

He turns his head so Bucky can feel his lips moving. “I know this is real hard, Buck. It’s way harder than either of us thought it would be, but I know you can cross this street. I _know_ you can. And even if we go home right after, you’ll feel so much better about today, I promise.”

Steve waits, feeling Bucky gradually calm down. When he seems settled, Steve asks him what he wants to do.

Bucky clenches his jaw. “If I really wanted to go home, you’d help me go home, right?”

“Of course, Buck.”

Steve taps his hand.

“But you think I can do this?”

“I don’t _think_ you can, I _know_ you can.”

Tap, tap, tap.

I.

K-N-O-W.

K-N-O-W.

K-N-O-W.

He presses his fingers hard into Bucky’s palm for every letter, making sure he knows how much Steve means it.

There’s a small smile on Bucky’s face. “Okay. I think—I think I wanna try. Let’s cross the street and then come back, and then we’ll go home?”

Tap, tap, tap.

“Promise? We’ll go home after this?”

“Yeah, Buck. I promise.”

He taps on Bucky’s hand a few more times.

Steve gently rubs Bucky’s arm and gives him a few minutes to collect himself. While he waits, Steve notices a man passing them and giving them a dirty look.

“Why the fuck do you have to stand in the middle of the fucking sidewalk? Go have your fag conversation somewhere that’s not in the middle of the street.”

Steve doesn’t bother replying. He does realize that they’re standing in the gathering area on the sidewalk where people wait to cross the street, but there’s plenty of room for people to go around them.

Besides—Steve isn’t all that concerned about other people at this point. Bucky would be embarrassed if he knew Steve was being rude, but Bucky has other things to worry about, so Steve keeps all that to himself.

Bucky seems to have accepted their new plans, but now he’s fully focused on the idea of crossing the street and his earlier worries are back.

“Steve—Steve, you gotta check to make sure the cars are stopped.”

“Of course, Buck.” He taps on Bucky’s hand.

“You gotta check real well. You don’t just gotta look both way once, you gotta be looking the whole time. Just like doing grid searches in the field—that’s how you gotta be scanning.”

Tap, tap, tap.

“Promise?”

Tap, tap, tap.

I.

P-R-O-M-I-S-E.

“And this can’t be like when you said that you’d watch out for people and then you got distracted and forgot. You gotta be focusing and really doing it. Promise!”

Steve cringes, annoyed with himself for having scared Buck with his lack of attention. Multi-tasking is the name of the operation, Rogers. Get that into your thick head.

“I promise, Buck. I’m gonna make sure we get across safe. I promise.”

I.

P-R-O-M-I-S-E.

Bucky still looks unhappy about the situation, but he’s nodding. “Fine. But if we get hit and die, I’m blaming you. Plus, I’m gonna tell your ma the second we see her that’s it’s your fault, and she’ll yell at you for eternity.”

Steve can’t help a little smile at that comment. He decides to be a wise-guy and presses his thumb against Bucky’s fingers. “I’m okay with that, Barnes.”

Bucky’s eyes narrow. “Oh, you think that’s funny, huh?” He takes a deep breath. “Alright, let’s do this.”

Bucky clutches Steve’s jacket with a death grip, probably hoping that Steve can somehow fly them right over the street.

“Buck, it ain’t gonna work like this.”

But Bucky’s pale and not letting go, so Steve wraps an arm around his waist, hoping that they don’t fall flat on their faces in the middle of the street.

He waits for the light to change, makes sure all the cars have stopped and shuffles them towards the curb. The second Bucky’s foot starts falling off the curb, Bucky panics and jerks backwards.

They stumble, Steve lets out a curse and barely manages to catch his balance and keep a hold of Bucky and Bucky lets out a shout: “Shit! Sorry, sorry! I forgot about the curb.”

Steve’s heart is hammering in his chest. They’re gonna get themselves killed if they cross the street all bundled together like this. “Jesus. Barnes, it ain’t gonna work like this. You gotta walk on your own. I’ll be right next to you, I promise.”

He glances around and realizes that quite a few people are staring at them.

He gives the woman closest to them a tight smile. “It’s our first time crossing a street,” he tells her. He only realizes after the words are out of his mouth that he probably sounds—and looks—crazy.

She nods and gives him a tight smile. It’s clear that she thinks the whole thing is a circus act. Nobody who just looks at Bucky would know that he’s deafblind. Both of them probably just look like drunk fools.

Right then, Steve hears: “Hey! Oh, my God, it’s Captain America!” Then there’s a phone in his face. “Oh, my God, this is awesome! Hey, can you do a salute for me?”

The phone is in the hands of a middle aged man, who’s grinning ear to ear and completely oblivious to the fact that Steve’s trying not to fall off the curb and has a terrified Bucky hanging off of him.

Steve directs a strained smile at the man. “Sir, I need you to step back, plea—”

“Come on, don’t be a dick! You gotta be nice to your fans. Most people hate you now that you’re a Russian spy or whatever. I’m one of the good guys—see, I don’t care about that stuff. Do a salute! Come on, do it!”

Steve is seriously thinking about ripping the phone from the man’s hands and throwing it into traffic. But that would involve dropping Bucky, which isn’t happening. Plus, the resulting chaos would freak Bucky out. He tightens his grip on Bucky and shuffles them farther away from the curb.

“Sir, I ain’t gonna pose for you because I’m busy right now.” With that, he turns his attention back to Bucky and checks on the light.

They’ve lost their crossing light, so they have to wait through another red.

“What the hell is your problem, dude? I change my mind, I think they should have locked you up. You’re a traitor to your country.”

Their interaction has attracted even more attention than before and even the people across the street are staring at them.

Well, let them stare.

Steve ignores all the staring eyes and doesn’t let himself worry about what they’re thinking. Bucky had never cared about the people who used to stare at the two of them walking down the street—wondering what somebody like Bucky was doing walking with a skinny, shrimp of a person like him. The fact that now it’s Bucky’s who’s attracting the attention of strangers is irrelevant. Steve has never paid curious onlookers any mind and he’s not going to start now.

The only two people who matter are himself and the one who’s in his arms, scared and tense but willing to give this a try.

Steve’s busy keeping an eye on the rude man and making sure he doesn’t try to do something stupid like grab either Steve or Bucky. So he startles a bit when Bucky suddenly tenses and lets out a startled shout.

Steve automatically tightens his grip on Bucky and frantically looks around to see what happened.

“Somebody pulled on my jacket, Steve.”

Steve looks down and sees a little boy staring up at Bucky. He seems a little confused by Bucky’s reaction to his attempt to get his attention, but that’s nothing compared to the fear on Bucky’s face.

“Don’t touch him,” Steve snaps, pulling Bucky closer to him. He knows he’s being rude, but he’s had just about enough of people giving Bucky a hard time during his first time outside.

The kid frowns. “I wanted to tell him a secret.” A small woman wearing a head scarf had reached for the boy at Steve’s outburst, but the boy doesn’t seem scared, he just seems unimpressed by Steve’s attitude.

Steve presses his cheek against Bucky’s so he can feel that Steve’s breathing normally—there’s no reason to panic—and he peels Bucky’s hand off his jacket long enough to do their symbol for ‘Okay’ over and over again, trying to calm him. He spares a little bit of his attention for the boy. “Well, he can’t hear you and we’re really busy right now.”

“But it’s a very good secret.”

Jesus Christ. Steve struggles to paste his Captain America smile on his face. “What is it?”

The boy points at the lamp post. “He can use the special button.”

“What?”

The woman is nodding and smiling at Steve. “If your friend is scared about crossing the street, he can touch the button,” she says in a soft, slightly accented voice.

Steve blinks at her. Nothing in that sentence made any sense. He knows about the devices attached to lamp posts at most intersections. They have a button that needs to be pressed which alerts the traffic light that a pedestrian wants to cross, and that’s how the pedestrian light will change to allow him to cross the street.

But having Bucky touch the button device won’t make a difference to him.

He tries to keep his smile polite. He can see out of the corner of his eye that they have a crossing light again, but Bucky’s slumped in his arms looking tired and scared so Steve figures they won’t be crossing with this light either. He smiles down at the woman.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

The woman looks down at the boy, who’s nodding at Steve. He looks very excited. “The button vibrates and makes a special noise when it’s time to go so blind people know when to cross safely. We learned it in school. Here, try!”

He lets go of his mother’s hand and tugs on Steve’s jacket. Steve tightens his grip on Bucky and they shuffle to the lamp post with the button device. Bucky makes an unhappy noise at being moved, but Steve gently squeezes his arm.

“It’s okay, Buck. Just hang on a second.” He spells out ‘W-A-I-T’ on Bucky’s palm as they shuffle over.

When they’re at the post, the boy pushes the large button on the [yellow device](http://accessforblind.org/wp-content/uploads/2013/02/APS_button_P1050213.jpg) attached to the pole. There’s a little light above the button that turns red, indicating the button had been pushed. Steve knows that means the signal has been sent and they’ll get a crossing light again soon.

The boy flaps a hand at Steve. “Put your hand on the button and keep it there! Hurry!”

Steve still doesn’t understand what any of this means, but he decides he might as well give the kid what he’s after and then he’ll hopefully be on his way. Steve doesn’t want to be rude, but he really needs the kid to stop bothering him so he can focus on getting himself and Bucky across the street.

Steve gives the kid a smile and untangles one hand from Bucky and gently touches the button. Now that he’s this close to it, he can hear that it’s emitting a slow, deep ticking noise. He keeps his fingers on the button…

…and nothing happens.

But the kid’s staring at the light across the street with such certainty on his face that Steve decides to keep humoring him.

Steve does notice that the button he’s touching has a large arrow on it, which points in the direction of the crosswalk which they’re waiting to cross. It’s a raised arrow so somebody can feel the edges of it.

Maybe that’s what the kid was talking about? That’s a little helpful. Bucky can touch the button and know which way to cross the street.

But having an arrow on a button really isn’t that big of a—

Then the pedestrian light changes to the go symbol, and suddenly, Steve can feel the button gently vibrating under his fingers. He stares at the button in surprise.

“Do you feel it?” The boy demands, looking at him with wide eyes.

Steve grins. “Yeah, I do. Does it stop when the light turns red?”

“Yes!”

Now that he’s paying attention, Steve can also tell that the sound being emitted from the device has changed to a faster, higher pitched ticking noise.

“That’s really neat,” Steve says, his smile becoming genuine.

The kid grins, and then as is common for children, he abruptly decides his interaction with Steve is finished, and he hurries back to his mother with a shouted ‘Bye’ over his shoulder. The woman gives Steve a parting smile and they cross the street with the rest of the crowd, leaving Steve at the lamp post, his fingers still on the button device, feeling the gentle vibrations.

He watches the traffic light and the pedestrian light and the moment the traffic light turns yellow, the button’s vibrations stop.

“Hot damn,” he mumbles to himself. “Well, if this ain’t the cat’s meow.”

Bucky shifts a bit in his arms, abruptly reminding Steve of his presence. Bucky—the damn sniper—has always been much more capable than Steve of staying quiet and still when the situation requires it. Steve’s ma had always praised that ability in Bucky—and made sure to lament the fact that her own flesh and blood could never sit still for longer than a few minutes.

Steve has never appreciated Bucky’s ability more. Despite not understanding what’s going on around him and not knowing what will happen, he’s willing to patiently stay still and give Steve the time and space to figure things out.

Steve squeezes Bucky’s arm and presses his forehead against the side of Bucky’s head. “You’re awesome, Barnes. Thank you.” He presses a kiss to Bucky’s cheek to thank him for his patience.

Okay. Time to see if the vibrating device will help Bucky.

First, time for spelling. Lots of spelling.

“Alright, Barnes. I’m sorry for complicating things, but I think this will help you feel better about getting across this street.”

He keeps one arm wrapped around Bucky and pulls up Bucky’s hand.

W-A-L-K.

S-I-G-N-A-L.

He brings Bucky’s hand to the lamp post and helps him feel the shape of the large button, making his fingers trace the arrow and the button.

“This is the walking light control?”

Steve gives Bucky a kiss on the temple. “Exactly, Buck. Good job.” He taps on Bucky’s hand.

He presses Bucky’s fingers to the button again. This time they actually press it, since the people around Steve are giving them nasty looks for taking up space so close to the button.

When Bucky is about to let go of the button, Steve presses his fingers back.

He reaches underneath Bucky’s hand to keep spelling on his palm while his fingers stay on the button.

W-A-I-T.

Steve waits, keeping an eye on the light across the street, and Bucky’s face. The moment the light changes, he can see the surprise on Bucky’s face as he feels the vibration.

V-I-B-R-A-T-E.

M-E-A-N-S.

W-E.

G-O.

“It vibrates when the walking light turns on? Is that right?”

“How did I get so lucky to end up with such a smart fella, huh?” Steve happily smiles into Bucky’s hair and taps the back of his hand.

When Steve leans over and looks at Bucky’s face, he sees he’s got a small smile now.

“That’s better, Buck.”

They stay at the light and Steve confirms for Bucky when the vibration stops that the walking light is now turned off.

They go through the whole cycle again, with Bucky helpfully pressing the button for the pedestrians who gather around them waiting to cross. This time when the walk signal turns on, Steve sees Bucky’s lips moving. It takes him a second, but he realizes that Bucky’s timing the length of the safe-crossing signal.

Steve grins. “You’re really something, Barnes, you know that?”

When their crossing light turns red again, Bucky turns his head into Steve’s direction.

“Okay, I’m ready to try. The next time the walking light turns on we can go. But you gotta help me.”

Steve presses a kiss to Bucky’s cheek. “Of course I will, jerk. What, you think I’m gonna shove you into the street and head back home on my own? Idiot.”

He taps on Bucky’s hand.

“And what are you gonna do before we step into the street, Rogers?”

Steve shakes his head with a rueful smile. “Jesus Christ, Barnes. I’m not two years old.”

L-O-O-K.

F-O-R.

C-A-R-S.

“Okay. And what are you gonna do while we’re walking across?”

Steve sighs and repeats his answer.

“Good. You better not get distracted by some shit when we’re half way across. I’ll tell your ma the second we see her.”

Bucky presses the button, and lets Steve get them organized and ready for crossing.

He stands next to Bucky and helps him hold his fingers against the device so he’ll be able to feel the vibration. Steve gently squeezes Bucky’s hand and keeps an eye on the light.

The light changes and Bucky nods, feeling the vibrations against his hand. “We can go.”

Steve takes Bucky’s hand off the button and wraps his fingers around Steve’s arm. He does a quick check to make sure there aren’t any cars making a last-minute run through the intersection, and then they’re off.

Now that they’re not tangled up, Bucky’s shuffling allows him to find the edge of the curb easily and he steps off the curb pretty smoothly.

Bucky keeps his pace even, and Steve can see his lips moving slightly. He’s counting down the time he has left so he’ll know if they have to hurry.

Steve carefully keeps his pace even, making sure they move in a relatively straight line and avoid the pedestrians around them.

Bucky’s following him pretty well, but Steve can feel how tense he is.

Knowing how much time he has left to cross the street only decreases the stress of the situation a bit for him, since he has no idea how much farther they have to walk.

They make it to the other side of the street and the tension drains from Bucky the second his feet have stepped up the curb.

“Stevie, I need a minute.” Bucky tells him in a shaky voice.

Steve knows they’re both exhausted—Bucky probably even more than Steve. The stress of this whole thing has been much bigger than either of them had anticipated.

He steers them to the nearby steps of a church which are broad enough that they can sit down and sprawl out without having to worry about people not being able to get past them.

He puts an arm around Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky immediately melts into Steve’s side and visibly relaxes. “I wish we could stay here forever,” he says.

Steve smiles and kisses Bucky’s temple.

He can’t believe everything they’ve accomplished. He realizes he needs to look at the streets around him with a new perspective.

Just walking down a block isn’t a 30 second exercise that doesn’t require any real thought or concentration.

Not anymore.

There are dozens of obstacles, potential dangers and unknown scenarios around them.

He hadn’t ever realized how helpful his sight is for walking around. He automatically steps over and around small obstacles, he can move over to avoid collisions with people and large objects, and he can adjust his pace and footing when he sees a change in elevation or ground type.

But Bucky can’t see any of that.

He still feels enormously guilty for Bucky tripping over that bump in the sidewalk from a tree root pushing up the pavement. Steve had stepped over it without even thinking about it. It hadn’t even occurred to him to steer Bucky around it.

And then he hadn’t even thought to move Bucky over so he wouldn’t nearly get bowled over by that pedestrian who had passed them. He just assumed Bucky would shift himself over and turn slightly sideways—but of course he didn’t because he can’t see or hear people around him.

Steve thought his only responsibilities for leading Bucky would be to steer him in certain directions.

But it turns out that Steve’s role needs to include much more.

He can’t just be Bucky’s navigator—he needs to be Bucky’s eyes and ears.

He desperately hopes that today’s experience won’t shake Bucky’s confidence too badly. Steve’s heart nearly shattered when he’d noticed that Bucky had gone back to shuffling his feet, his body tense and scared with each step.

Steve hopes Bucky will be willing to practice walking more. He knows they’ll figure out how to make things easier and less stressful for him.

But—

Steve comes to the sad realization that even if Bucky ever learns how to walk down a block by himself and despite the wonderful vibrating button, he’ll never be able to cross a street by himself.

It’s way too dangerous. Bucky can tell when the light changes, but just because the light changes doesn’t mean the drivers of the cars around him will obey the light. The light can’t tell him if the street is clear and safe to cross—the light can only tell him when it _should_ be clear and safe to cross. If Bucky could hear the cars around him, that would be a different story, but he can’t. He’s always going to need a pair of eyes or ears to tell him when the street is actually safe to cross.

No matter how much Bucky learns, how much time and practice Bucky puts into this, crossing the street will never be something he can do completely on his own.

That thought is thoroughly depressing, but Steve roughly gives his head a shake and pushes those thoughts away.

He wants to stay focused on the positives.

Sure, they’d only walked one block, but they’d encountered lots of difficult situations and Bucky had made it through all of them.

Forget the park.

Steve’s starting to understand that this will be a much slower process.

The park will happen, just not right away.

While they’re sitting there, Steve spies two people across the street taking pictures of them, and he gets several dirty looks from people walking past, with one yelling “Traitor”.

Thankfully Buck isn’t aware of the stares or the rude comments—whether they’re directed at Bucky himself or Steve. And Steve can easily ignore them.

He never liked the celebrity status that came with being Captain America anyway, and he’s never cared that he butchered Captain America’s reputation when he went on the run with Buck. He’s never paid close attention to the rumors that have swirled around and he’s just glad he isn’t being stopped for pictures and autographs as much as he used to be. He couldn’t care less about the nasty comments. He’s spent his entire life dealing with nasty comments and being taught by Bucky Barnes to ignore them.

And he will never regret putting the life of his best friend ahead of his duties to his country, so if people want to shout mean things, they’re welcome to.

*             *             *

It takes several minutes until the stress of crossing the street fades. Having that vibrating button did help calm his nerves. He likes knowing when the walking light turns on, and he now knows exactly how many seconds the light stays on for. He needs to figure out if all of the walking lights stay on for the same length of time, and he needs to get a better feel for the length of the crossing. Once he puts those things together, he knows he’ll feel more confident crossing the street. In the middle of the street, he’ll know exactly how much time he has left and how much ground he has left to cover.

But despite Steve’s help and the vibrating button, that whole thing was very stressful.

This whole walking thing is very stressful.

He desperately misses his cane and the comfortable, smooth floors of their apartment.

Sitting on the steps is a nice change of pace.

The cool fall breeze and the sun feel wonderful on his face. He can smell car exhaust, the rain dampness and some type of food. Maybe somebody’s cooking nearby? Or they’re near a restaurant?

It’s so nice sitting on the cement steps with Steve right next to him.

His hand is turned over.

W-E.

G-O.

H-O-M-E.

There’s no question mark at the end.

Another kiss on his temple and his hand is squeezed.

Bucky really does want to go home, but now that’s he’s calmed down, he’s embarrassed about his earlier panic.

He hates that he was so ready to give up so easily.

What kind of a lame-brain can’t walk more than a block?

“No. Come on. I don’t wanna give up yet. I—just give me more time and I can go further. I ain’t a baby.”

But his heart really isn’t in it and he feels Steve vigorously rubbing his hand.

Then:

Y-O-U.

Steve places his flat hand over Bucky’s. Their symbol for being tired.

I.

Steve’s flat hand is pressed against Bucky’s again.

They’re both tired. That’s true.

Then:

T-O-M-O-R-R-O-W.

Y-O-U.

Smiley face.

I.

Smiley face.

Bucky wants to cry he’s so disappointed in himself. “I’m sorry I did so bad,” he whispers.

*             *             *

Bucky looks like he’s on the verge of tears. “I’m sorry I did so bad,” he whispers.

That startles Steve right out of the comfortable slouch he’s in. “ _What?_ What the hell do you mean you did bad? You did good, Buck! You did so good! So, so, so good.”

He spells out:

Y-O-U.

D-I-D.

V-E-R-Y.

G-O-O-D.

He really wants to make sure his message was heard loud and clear, so he repeats ‘G-O-O-D’ three more times, pressing his fingers firmly into Bucky’s palm. Damn, he wishes he could be more specific and tell Bucky exactly what Steve’s proud of, but he won’t add more stress to Bucky’s day, so ‘G-O-O-D’ will have to suffice.

“I’m so proud of you and you worked so hard. This is just a lot harder than we thought it would be, but that’s okay. We’ll keep practicing. You’ve got things to work on and I’ve got things to work on but we can—”

“Really? You think it went well?” Bucky’s got a small smile on his face. That’s a big improvement.

“Of course I do!” He taps Bucky’s hand multiple times, pauses to press a kiss to his palm, then taps it some more.

Bucky manages a shaky laugh. “Alright, alright, I get it. I guess I did okay. I got down those stairs and made it all the way here, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you did, buddy.” Steve taps on his hand a bunch of times. “There’s no way you could have done that a few—”

Bucky takes a deep breath. “Okay, let’s head home. But we’ll try again tomorrow, right?”

Steve makes a face. He doesn’t want to make promises on that. Bucky needs to be completely focused and committed to doing this. If he’s not in the right frame of mind tomorrow, then there’s no point in trying. They’ll both get frustrated and it’ll turn into a disaster.

Steve carefully spells out ‘M-A-Y-B-E’ on Bucky’s palm, hoping it won’t be met with a stubborn argument.

It’s clear that Bucky’s exhausted when his only response is to nod and tell Steve that he’s ready to go home.

Steve gets Bucky standing, hooks Bucky’s hand into his elbow, and they’re heading home.

*             *             *

The way home seems to go a bit faster, but Bucky’s so exhausted that he’s practically hanging off Steve’s arm. He’s moving his feet, but he doesn’t have the energy for anything else.

He realizes walking is not nearly as scary if he turns his brain off and doesn’t think about the fact that he’s walking through an unknown darkness.

He thinks about lying down on their couch and cuddling with Steve, and he carefully avoids thinking about what his shuffling feet could trip over and how many people could slam into him before Steve manages to warn him.

He knows that isn’t good, but he’s used up all his energy on the outbound trip.

Steve eventually pulls him to a stop, spells out ‘H-O-M-E’ and then draws a ‘S’ on his hand.

Right. Eights steps.

Steve helps him grab the railing.

Climbing up is much less scary than climbing down, but thankfully Steve keeps a hand on his lower back, letting him know he’s right there in case Bucky falls. With that reassurance, Bucky makes it up the eight steps pretty smoothly. Once he’s at the top, he holds his hand out and takes a few steps until he’s touching what he thinks is the front door. He feels Steve at his side, opening the door and leading him inside.

Once they’re through their apartment door, he rips open his jacket, drops it to the floor and toes off his shoes. He stumbles his way to the couch, doing a face plant on it once he feels the edge of it.

He feels the couch dip next to his head and he gropes around for Steve’s leg. Finding it, he pulls himself over so his head’s on Steve’s lap, one of Steve’s hands carding through his hair.

“I’ll go clean up my mess when I don’t feel half dead, Rogers, I promise,” he mumbles into Steve’s pants.

Tap.

He lets himself relax.

Tomorrow he’ll get farther than that street corner.

Or maybe the day after.

Maybe he needs to stop putting so much pressure on himself.

Whatever.

Today he’s gonna cuddle with Steve and do nothing more draining than work on a simple art project. He and Steve have earned it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 'special' pedestrian signal devices which Steve and Bucky learned about are called Accessible Pedestrian Signals. They come in many shapes, sizes and functions. Some places have laws in place which dictate what functions an APS must have and how quickly a city has to work to replace the old signals with APSs. [This website](http://accessforblind.org/aps/aps-features/) has tons of information about APSs. The APSs in my neighborhood do have the vibration capability, but it's not a universal function. You can check if the APSs in your area have that function or not!
> 
> Did you check out the [beautiful sketch](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10823220/chapters/24541614) which [LABB](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LABB/pseuds/LABB) has created for this chapter? You really should!


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've been worried about Steve, this is the chapter you've been waiting for!

Steve’s glad that Bucky seems to calm down relatively quickly once they’re home, but his exhaustion probably has a lot to do with that. He’s sure that if Bucky weren’t so tired, he’d be as annoyed with Steve as Steve is.

Upon further reflection, Steve realizes he’s not just annoyed—he’s angry at himself.

He’s angry for making so many dumb mistakes while they were out on their walk. Not watching for obstacles which Bucky could trip over or keeping other people from bumping into Bucky were stupid mistakes that Steve shouldn’t have made.

He’s also angry that he couldn’t tell Bucky properly how proud he was of him—and it’s all his fault.

‘So good’.

That’s all he could tell Bucky.

That’s what their communication has turned into. Bucky does something huge and amazing, and all Steve could tell him is ‘so good’.

Steve realizes that he had let Bucky know in other ways how incredible of an accomplishment his walk had been—kisses, taps, squeezes—but damn it, he hates that he couldn’t tell Bucky in words.

This will get added onto the huge list of things that Steve can’t communicate to Bucky, purely because he knows explaining those things would be too difficult for Bucky to understand.

That list is growing bigger everyday—as is the heaviness in Steve’s chest.

That list has serious things on it as well as trivial things, but they’re all things Steve desperately wishes he could tell Bucky:

He can’t tell Bucky about the multiple options he has if he wants a new prosthetic arm. It would take Steve forever to explain about modern day prosthetic options.

He can’t tell Bucky about his conversations with Natasha or Sam. He could tell him what subjects they’d discussed, but he can’t share the details of his conversations.

He can’t tell Bucky that he’s adopted the New York Mets as their new baseball team. Bucky would want to know about the players and their stats and that’s all too complicated.

And he certainly can’t tell Bucky that every evening when Bucky thinks Steve is exercising on the bike, Steve is really sitting by the door, struggling not to cry.

He knows he should be exercising on the bike, but he can’t muster up the energy or the will to do it.

He doesn’t tell Natasha or Sam that he’s not using the bike because he knows they’ll just fuss and get mad at him, and Steve doesn’t have the energy to deal with that.

It’s the same reason he’s been pretending to be too busy for long, in depth conversations with either of them lately. He knows they aren’t happy with how he’s dealing with things, but this is his new reality, and one of the only things he has control over is whether he chooses to listen to his friends’ nagging or not.

He chooses not.

It’s easier to lie to both of them and tell them he’s feeling good, he’s exercising, he’s keeping himself busy with fun, positive activities, he’s adjusting well, and so on.

He knows by now exactly what he needs to say to make them both back off.

As for Bucky, Steve knows he’d have a fit if he knew Steve wasn’t bothering to exercise and was spending a large part of his day doing absolutely nothing, so he doesn’t tell him either. And even though he’s right under Bucky’s nose twenty-four hours a day, it’s ridiculously easy to tell Bucky he’s doing one thing and then do something completely different without Bucky ever getting a hint that he’s lying.

At first Steve had really worried that Bucky would somehow know that Steve was lying—Bucky had always been able to tell when he’s lying—but then he’d realized that Bucky is so involved in his own world these days that he doesn’t notice anything which Steve doesn’t directly tell him about.

Bucky’s right under his nose and has no idea what Steve’s doing when he’s not interacting with Bucky.

He knows it’s a mean thing for him to do, but honestly, he’s stopped caring a while ago. Letting Bucky think Steve is doing alright keeps Bucky happy and focused on his own progress, and that’s what’s most important.

When they get home, he holds it together until after dinner. Bucky’s washing the dishes and Steve goes to the door.

He feels so damn guilty that he can’t even tell Bucky _properly_ how amazing he is and how proud Steve is of him.

If the universe had always intended on giving Steve a limited number of words he could tell Bucky over the course of their lifetimes, Steve wishes he would have known and he would have rationed his words out from the age of seven.

He remembers so many pointless conversations where they just chit-chatted over nothing in particular for hours on end. Lying on the floor in their apartment, trying to will the summer heat away and saying whatever came into their heads. Huddling together for warmth in their tiny bed in the middle of winter, trying to distract each other from the cold by talking about any little nonsense they could think of.

They’ve literally spent years doing nothing but talking to each other—using words as a way to fill time and distract from illness, boredom, cold or heat.

Steve never imagined he’d lose that.

Words are as precious to him now as pennies had been in the 30s.

And he knows that’s his fault.

It’s his fault that Bucky finds the finger spelling confusing.

 _His_ fault, not Bucky’s.

It had been Steve’s stupid idea to use the Morse code spelling method, which had been unnecessarily complicated and made Bucky doubt himself so badly that he’s only comfortable communicating in short sentence fragments and isolated words, despite their current finger spelling method being much simpler.

Why the hell didn’t he let Natasha find him a professional to help them?! He wouldn’t have been comfortable letting the person come to the apartment, but he could have talked to him or her over the phone.

Instead, he let his stubbornness and paranoia lead the way, and he completely destroyed Buck’s confidence in communicating.

And now he’s resigned them both to a life of isolation and living in separate worlds, despite being in the same apartment.

He takes a shaky breath and tries to wipe the tears off his cheeks, but they just keep coming, so he eventually gives up.

“I’m sorry, Buck. I screwed things up so badly. I’m never gonna be able to really talk to you, and you’re gonna live in your little bubble without knowing what’s going on around you. I’m such an idiot!” He chokes out, slamming a fist on the floor.

Bucky turns off the water, finds the drying rag and slowly wipes the water from the counter.

“I should have asked for help. It would have been better for both of us,” he mumbles.

Bucky puts down the rag and unfolds his cane.

He slowly makes his way to the bedroom where he thinks Steve is exercising on the bike. “I’m done the dishes,” he says, standing in the bedroom doorway.

Then Bucky makes his way to the bathroom. Steve pulls up his knees as Bucky passes to get his legs out of the way and remain undetected. When Bucky’s past him, Steve lets his legs out again.

Steve sniffs hard and tries to stop crying. He’s being such an idiot. “Stop it, Rogers! Get a hold of yourself! You gotta be more creative with talking to Buck, that’s all. We’ve been doing well with the baseball. That’s kind of like talking, ain’t it? At least it’s as close as you’re gonna get to talking because you’re an idiot.”

He’s so consumed with being annoyed at himself and feeling sorry for himself that he forgets to pull his legs up when Bucky comes back out of the bathroom.

That’s how Bucky’s cane ends up hitting Steve’s legs.

Immediately, a shiver of fear races up Steve’s spine and he yanks his legs in, desperately hugging his knees to his chest.

Buck can’t find him here.

Steve doesn’t have a good explanation for why he’s sitting on the floor by the door when he should be on the exercise bike.

He holds his breath, watching Bucky.

Bucky immediately frowns when he feels the cane hit something. “What the hell? Steve, did you leave your shoes lying around? Punk.”

He sweeps the cane around where Steve’s legs had previously been. But now there’s nothing there. That makes Bucky frown harder.

“What the hell? There was something here, I know there was. Cane, are you playing tricks on me?”

Steve’s holding his breath, hoping Bucky will shrug off his confusion. But then Bucky decides to swing the cane wider, expanding his search area—and he smacks the cane into Steve’s pulled up feet.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Steve mumbles. He’s made himself as small as possible, but before he can try to sneak past Bucky, Bucky zeroes in on the object his cane encountered and he’s sweeping the cane around Steve’s body, investigating the foreign object just like he does when they’re out on the street.

There’s no way Steve can get past him without Bucky noticing.

“You punk! Leaving your shoes all over the place. Jesus Christ! Making me do all the work round here.” Bucky drops the cane handle, leaving it dangling from the strap on his wrist and he bends down, searching for the object the cane had isolated.

Steve’s barely breathing, his mind racing. Bucky’s gonna know it’s him the second he touches him—and what the hell is he gonna say to explain what he’s doing?

Maybe if he can at least hide the fact that he’s crying—?

As Bucky’s hand touches his foot and runs up his leg, Steve quickly brings a hand up to wipe his face, but he can feel his face is still moist.

Bucky’s face pales the moment he realizes that he touched a human leg.

A human leg which should not be sitting by their front door.

“Oh, you better be Steve, or you’re not gonna like how this turns out.” Bucky quickly finds Steve’s knee and from there he finds his shoulder and runs his hand down Steve’s arm, searching for his wrist.

When he feels the leather bracelet with the bead and the notches, he visibly relaxes a bit.

But then the confusion is back. “You idiot! Nearly gave me a heart attack. Why are you sitting by the door? I thought you were on the bike.”

Steve’s desperately hoping Bucky won’t touch his face, but he’s so busy panicking that he forgets to give Bucky an answer. That makes Bucky even more confused, and he decides to go looking for answers himself.

He touches Steve’s face, and immediately feels the moisture from Steve’s bad tear-wiping job.

The confusion is replaced by fear. “Are you hurt?” He sounds frantic.

“No, Buck. I ain’t hurt. Don’t worry about it.” Because his brain is running in a million directions, he forgets to answer the question non-verbally, so Bucky’s concern sky-rockets.

“Steve, where are you hurt? Show me. Bring my hand there. Can you call an ambulance if I bring you your phone?”

Bucky finds one of Steve’s hands and gives it a shake. “Talk to me, Steve. Oh my God, are you unconscious?! Shit!”

Steve has to put a stop to this before Bucky gives himself a heart attack. “Get a hold of yourself, Rogers. Jesus.” He sits up straight and gently squeezes Bucky’s frantic hand.

He rubs it multiple times.

He spells out:

N-O-T.

H-U-R-T.

Bucky doesn’t look convinced. “Are you sure? You don’t need me to get help?”

“No, I’m fine. I’m sorry I’m freaking you out, Buck. I’m just being an idiot.”

He rubs Bucky’s hand.

N-O-T.

H-U-R-T.

He squeezes Bucky’s hand to hopefully drive his point home.

Bucky looks a bit less freaked out, but now he’s back to being puzzled. “Why you are sitting by the door? No, forget that. More importantly, why are you upset?”

Steve tries to get the residual tears off his cheek and rubs Bucky’s hand, trying to appear as upbeat as possible. He’s happy that at least Bucky’s talking to him and not automatically trying to get him into the bedroom to take his mind off things.

“Don’t—don’t worry about it, Buck,” he says. He still has those annoying hiccups he gets after crying too hard, but Bucky doesn’t know that.

I.

A-M.

F-I-N-E.

He hopes Bucky can’t tell his hand’s trembling.

He thinks he’s successfully wriggled out of the situation when Bucky pushes himself to his feet, but his hopes are dashed as soon as Bucky opens his mouth.

“Come on off the floor. We’re gonna go sit somewhere comfortable and you’re gonna tell me what’s going on.”

“Buck, it’s fi—.”

“And I ain’t giving you my hand to help you up, because I know you’re just gonna use it to keep telling me you’re fine and you ain’t fine.”

He heads to the couch and sits down. “Come on, Rogers. Get over here.”

Steve takes a deep breath.

He doesn’t want to have this conversation. It’ll only make Steve upset again and there’s nothing Bucky can do about it anyway. It’s not Bucky’s problem that Steve’s an idiot, nor is it his fault that he can’t handle more advanced finger spelling.

All those things are Steve’s problem.

He stares after Bucky, who’s making his way to the couch. He finds the couch easily and has a seat, folding up his cane and putting it on the coffee table.

Then he just sits there, waiting for Steve.

Steve knows that the stubborn jerk will sit there until tomorrow morning if Steve doesn’t go over there and talk to him, so Steve gets up and heads to the couch.

He drops down beside Bucky. Bucky holds out an expectant hand.

“Alright, tell me what’s wrong. And don’t tell me it’s nothing because nobody sits by the front door on the floor crying over nothing.”

Steve sighs and thinks over what to say.

Maybe he can give Bucky a half-truth which will fulfill his curiosity, but not make him feel guilty?

I.

L-I-T-T-L-E.

Frowny face.

“Why?”

Steve hesitates. Bucky’s face isn’t giving away what he’s thinking, but it’s clear his mind is racing.

When Steve stays quiet, Bucky presses his lips together, unhappy. “Okay, different question. Is this the first time you’ve been sitting by the door like that?”

Damn it. He doesn’t want to outright lie to Bucky again…but there’s no way he can tell him the truth without making him feel guilty and horrible.

“I—Jesus Buck, why can’t you just let this go?”

Again Steve takes so long trying to come up with a sufficient half-truth that Bucky gets his answer anyway.

Bucky’s face crumbles and his eyes fill with pain. He takes his outstretched hand back and rubs it over his face.

“Jesus, Stevie. Don’t do this. Please don’t do this. Shit!”

Steve frowns at him. “Do what? I ain’t doing nothing, Buck.” He reaches out and draws a question mark on the back of Bucky’s hand.

Bucky grabs Steve’s hand and holds it tightly against his chest.

“You—You lied to me. I asked you if you were gonna go on the bike before I did the dishes, and you said yes. You _lied_ to me. And you know why that terrifies me? Because you did it so easily without any hesitation. You used to have such a hard time lying to me and you did it so easily, so I know you’ve been doing it lots.”

Steve has no idea what to say. He feels like shit.

Bucky clenches his jaw hard and his eyes are shiny with tears, but he’s not letting them fall.

“I’m sorry.”

That nearly startles Steve off the couch. Bucky’s sorry? _Bucky’s_ sorry?

“ _What_?”

He tries to tug his hand free, but Bucky’s not letting it go, his thumb rubbing the leather bracelet on Steve’s wrist. Steve knows he could use his other hand to spell on the back of Bucky’s hand—but it’s an unspoken agreement that Steve shouldn’t cheat and use his second hand during times when Bucky wants him to stay quiet and listen.

“I’ve been able to tell what you’re thinking and what you’re feeling and what you’re gonna say before you say it our entire lives, and I just assumed that I’d be able to keep doing that. But I’m starting to realize that I have no idea. I don’t know what you’re doing or how you’re feeling or anything about you, unless you tell me exactly what’s going on. And the thing is—”

Bucky’s voice breaks slightly and he swallows a few times before continuing.

“The thing is, you haven’t been telling me how you’re doing and I haven’t been asking. I’ve been making assumptions, but I’m realizing that even when I’m wrong you don’t tell me when I’m wrong. I haven’t been a good friend or a good partner, and I’m so sorry for that.”

Steve gently tries to tug his hand free, and this time Bucky lets it go. Steve gently lays Bucky’s hand flat on his thigh.

Y-O-U.

B-U-S-Y.

Bucky snorts and blinks hard, but a few tears are rolling down his cheeks. “That’s not a good enough excuse. It can’t be. We’re supposed to be a team, that means we can never be too busy to ask how the other one is doing.”

Steve reaches up and gently wipes the tears off Bucky’s cheeks. Bucky catches his hand and kisses his palm. Then he brings their hands back to his thigh and stretches out his hand under Steve’s fingers, ready to listen.

“Please tell me why you were by the door. What’s making you sad? Tell me. Please.”

Steve sighs. “Even if I tell you, you can’t do anything about it, Buck. I ain’t gonna make you feel even more guilty because you can’t give me what—”

“Come on, Stevie. Tell me. Please.”

When Steve doesn’t start moving his fingers, Bucky changes tactics.

“Do you remember your neighbors when we were young? The Pickertons? Mr. Pickerton came home from the war missing his legs, remember?”

Steve blinks. He has no idea what this has to do with anything. But yes, he remembers the Pickertons.

“Yeah, Buck I do.”

He taps Bucky’s palm. Before he can ask why Bucky’s talking about his neighbors from 70 years ago, Bucky continues.

“He couldn’t work anymore and his wife seemed like she was completely on board with supporting him. She was always by his side and she was working and she was taking care of him, and it seemed like she was so supportive, and then one day she just up and left. You remember that?”

Yes, Steve does.

And the parallels immediately send a shiver down his spine. “I—Buck I’d never leave you! Jesus!”

He spells out:

I.

N-E-V-E-R.

L-E—

Bucky curls his fingers over Steve’s, stopping his words. “That’s what Mrs. Pickerton said, I’m sure. That’s what she told herself and Mr. Pickerton. She wasn’t a terrible person, she just got overwhelmed and she didn’t take care of herself and she didn’t tell Mr. Pickerton that she needed more help and support. She ran out of steam and by the end there was nothing left.”

Steve’s fingers are frozen in Bucky’s palm.

“You gotta talk to me. I don’t just mean right now. We do gotta get to the bottom of this situation, but after this you can’t be sitting by the door. The door can’t help you. You gotta let me be your door, or find somebody else you can talk to. Otherwise you’re gonna walk out that door one day.”

Steve’s first instinct is to try to deflect Bucky’s concern and make him think he’s fine—but the instinct stutters to a stop before his fingers start telling those lies.

He _does_ need help. Specifically, he needs Bucky’s help.

He _does_ want Bucky asking him how he’s doing more often. He _does_ want Bucky being able to deal with the situation if Steve’s answer isn’t ‘fine’ or a smiley face.

He needs Bucky to support him and take care of him when he doesn’t have the energy to do it himself.

To his complete surprise, he ends up bursting into tears.

Bucky must feel the sudden jerk of emotion when Steve’s hand shifts in his grip. He frowns and immediately runs his hand up Steve’s arm to his face.

When he feels that Steve’s crying, he twists to the side. “Come here.” He gently tugs Steve closer, his movements hesitant, not wanting to bash their heads together when Steve’s not fully paying attention.

Steve helps, burying his face into Bucky’s neck and wrapping his arms around him. Bucky wraps his arm tightly around him and rubs the back of his neck. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I haven’t been paying close enough attention to you and that’s not acceptable. That’s not how we do things. That’s _never_ been how we do things.”

Bucky holds him and gently rubs his back and neck while Steve sobs into his shirt.

He realizes it’s been way too long since he’s let Bucky comfort him like this and he’s missed it so badly.

Bucky kisses Steve’s neck and tightens his grip around him. “I’m gonna take better care of you, I promise.”

It seems to take Steve forever to calm down, but Bucky keeps holding him, not rushing him.

When Bucky can feel that Steve’s stopped crying, he kisses the side of his head. “I gotta get you a tissue. Hang on a second.”

He untangles himself from Steve and goes to the table and brings the tissue box back with him. He gently wipes Steve’s face and helps him blow his nose.

“Okay, you ready to talk or you wanna sit for a while longer?”

Steve’s ready to talk. He knows exactly what he needs to say.

He keeps one arm around Bucky’s waist but pulls back enough that he can puts Bucky’s hand on his thigh and spell on it.

I.

M-I-S-S.

Y-O-U.

Bucky’s face falls as soon as he understands the words. “Oh, Stevie. Honey, I know. I haven’t been doing a good job being here, have I? I’m sorry I’ve been so wrapped up with myself. I didn’t realize how limited my view of everything is. I’m gonna take much better care of you from now on, I promise. But you gotta help. You gotta tell me what you want to change. I don’t wanna smother you and I don’t wanna get in your way. So you gotta tell me.”

Steve hesitates. He knows Bucky can’t help the fact that he finds the finger spelling difficult.

But maybe…maybe they can do it just a bit more often?

I.

M-I-S-S.

T-A-L-K-I-N-G.

T-O.

Y-O-U.

Bucky freezes. “You— _you_ miss talking to _me_?”

Bucky sounds weird when he says it. Steve pulls back a bit and frowns at him.

Maybe Bucky misunderstood? But he’d repeated exactly what Steve had said…

Bucky’s frowning. “I miss talking to you too! But I know you’re busy, so you don’t have time for long chit chats. We’ll try to work around—”

“What? _I_ don’t have time? What the hell does that mean?”

Steve rubs Bucky’s hand.

I.

A-L-W-A-Y-S.

H-A-V-E.

T-I-M-E.

Bucky’s frown deepens. “Okay. Then why haven’t you been talking to me more? You’re always saying things so quick and short.”

Steve gapes at him. “I—I’m doing it for you, you jerk!”

F-O-R.

Y-O-U.

Y-O-U.

Y-O-U.

Now Bucky looks confused. “Me? But why? I _want_ you to talk to me more. Ever since we started doing the easier alphabet I’ve been wanting you to talk to me more. Why do you think I don’t want you to talk to me?”

T-O-O.

H-A-R-D.

“What’s too hard?”

M-O-R-S-E.

C-O-D-E.

T-O-U-G-H.

Steve watches Bucky’s face, waiting for him to put the pieces together.

Bucky’s frowning. “I know I found the Morse code tough, but I think that was because I stressed myself out about it. This spelling is much easier. And with practice, I know I can get real good at it. I want us to talk more, and not just little words and phrases. I want you to actually talk to me. I know I can do it. Is that what you want?”

Steve lets out a choked laugh. “Yes, Buck. Yes, yes, yes.”

He taps on Bucky’s hand multiple times.

W-A-N-T.

M-Y.

B-E-S-T.

F-R-I-E-N-D.

B-A-C-K.

Bucky’s frown changes into a sad smile. “You’ll get him back, don’t you worry. Starting right this second, I promise.”

A glow of happiness lights up in Steve’s belly and he forgets to alert Bucky and just tackles him a hug, wrapping his arms tightly around him.

Bucky lets out a little squawk of surprise, but he wraps his arm just as tightly around Steve.

“We ain’t gonna have a Pickerton situation, Rogers. We just ain’t.” He kisses Steve’s cheek. “But that means no more lying, okay? Promise?”

Steve nods and uses both hands to tap on Bucky’s back.

*             *             *

The first thing Bucky insists Steve do is spend a few minutes on the exercise bike. While Steve hasn’t actually confirmed whether or not he’s been using it, Bucky seems to know he hasn’t.

“Not exercising has probably made you feel even worse, Rogers. If you ain’t gonna take care of yourself properly, then you gotta do what I say. Whenever you were sick that was the rule and now is no different.”

Steve isn’t really enthusiastic about doing the exercise but he goes. It’s really embarrassing that his legs are aching after just a few minutes. He really hasn’t been doing much since Bucky’s come home.

Bucky’s followed him into the bedroom and sits on the bed, one hand on his watch, keeping track of how much time Steve spends on the bike. Once he’s satisfied, he holds out his hand towards Steve.

“Alright. Now you pick where you want us to sit and you’re gonna tell me whatever comes into your head.”

They sit on the couch. Bucky is on Steve’s left—for multiple reason. History, of course, but also because this way Steve can wrap his left arm around Bucky’s shoulder and easily spell on Bucky’s palm with his right hand.

Steve’s hand is shaking, he’s so excited.

He doesn’t even know what to say first.

Or how to say it.

He doesn’t want to overwhelm Bucky with too many words at once.

He thinks it over, then decides to ask Bucky.

H-O-W.

M-A-N-Y.

W-O-R-D-S.

Question mark.

Bucky smiles. “As many as you want. Just give me a little longer pause after four or five words so I can get that part straight in my head before we keep going.”

Steve presses his lips together, not knowing which of the million thoughts in his head he wants to tell Bucky first.

Finally his eyes land on the television.

That’s a good place to start.

W-E.

A-R-E.

F-O-L—

“Do more abbreviations, Rogers. No ‘I am’ do ‘I’m’. Do ‘we’re’. I know we don’t do the apostrophe but I don’t think I’ll need it. I can tell from context what words you’re saying.”

Okay.

W-E-R-E.

F-O-L-L-O-W-I-N-G.

N-Y.

M-E-T-S.

“The Mets? You traitor. My pa and Mrs. R would have heart attacks. Why aren’t we following the Dodgers?”

M-O-V-E-D.

T-O.

L-A.

“Seriously? When?”

Number sign.

He squeezes Bucky’s thumb. 1.

He squeezes all five of his fingers, one by one, then starts back from the thumb and does four fingers. 9.

Bucky closes his fingers, stopping his words.

“That’s too slow. I got a better idea for numbers. Give me your hand.”

He lays Steve’s hand flat on his thigh. He does the number sign. Then he starts tapping the tip of each of Steve’s fingers, starting from his thumb and counting through to 5.

Steve opens his mouth to interrupt him. Tapping the tips of fingers is the same as the vowels of their alphabet.

Bucky beats him to it. “You know it ain’t the vowels because of the number sign. Always start a number with the number sign and end it with the number sign so you know it’s done. For 6 through 0, do two taps on the finger tips.”

He starts from the beginning.

Number sign.

He taps through each finger from the thumb. “1…2…3…4…5.”

He goes back to the thumb and does two taps on each finger. “6…7…8…9…0.”

Bucky lifts up Steve’s hand and replaces it with his own hand. “Okay, do it again. Try the new way and see how that works. What year did our precious Dodgers leave Brooklyn?”

Number sign.

He taps on Bucky’s thumb once.

“1.”

He taps on his ring finger twice. “Uh that’s 9.”

He taps his pinky once. “5.”

His index finger gets two taps. “2. No, shit, sorry! 7.”

He does another number sign to signal the end of the number.

“1…9…5…7. 1957. 1957. Is that right?”

Steve grins. “Yeah, that’s right, Buck. That’s so much faster!” He happily taps on Bucky’s hand.

Bucky’s grin mirrors his without him realizing it. “That’s much better for the numbers. You think that’s okay?”

“Oh, yeah.” He taps Bucky’s hand multiple times.

“Alright, back to business. 1957 you said? Jesus, they’ve been gone for a while.”

“Yeah, but wait til you hear what they did before they left!”

F-I-R-S-T.

B-L-A-C-K.

P-L-A-Y-E-R.

Bucky smiles but gently grabs Steve’s fingers and gives them a little shake. “Give me whole sentences. I can do it. You can shorten words, but give me whole sentences. Makes it seem more like you’re talking to me.”

Steve thinks it over for a minute.

D-O-D-G-E-R-S.

H-A-D.

F-I-R-S-T.

B-L-A-C-K.

P-L-A-Y-E-R.

“Really? That’s great! I’m not surprised. Our boys were always a good bunch.”

Tap, tap.

“Tell me more about it.”

Number sign.

Single tap thumb. 1.

Two taps ring finger. 9.

Single tap ring finger. 4.

“What? That’s three taps. That’s wrong.”

“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t put enough of a pause.” Steve is about to just erase his words and start over, but he decides if he’s saying sorry verbally, he might as well say it so Bucky can hear him. That’s the whole point of this isn’t it?

S-O-R-R-Y.

Bucky smiles. “You better be. Confusing the poor deafblind man here. Okay, start again. Number sign.”

For good measure, Steve rubs his palm over Bucky’s entire palm a few times, making sure he understands that he’s starting again.

Number sign.

Single tap thumb. 1.

Double tap ring finger. 9.

Pause.

Single tap ring finger. 4.

Double tap index finger. 7.

Number sign.

“1947? What happened in 1947?”

Steve gapes at him. “Seriously? We just finished talking about it.”

But Bucky’s giving him a half smile. “Talk to me. Me guessing what you’re saying ain’t you talking to me. Tell me, Stevie. I’ve got all day.”

Another happy glow lights up in his belly and he presses his face against Bucky’s cheek. He lifts his face so Bucky can feel his happy smile against his cheek.

Bucky grins. “So, what happened in 1947? Use short words, but lots of them. Come on.”

D-O-D-G-E-R-S.

H-A-D.

F-I-R-S-T.

B-L-A-C-K.

P-L-A-Y-E-R.

Steve pauses a bit, not wanting to overwhelm Bucky.

H-I-S.

N-A-M-E.

W-A-S.

J-A-C-K-I-E.

R-O-B-I-N-S-O-N.

Another pause.

H-E.

W-A-S.

R-O-O-K-I-E.

O-F.

T-H-E.

Y-R.

“Really? Good for him! Are there other black players in the league today?”

Tap.

L-O-T-S.

“That’s great! Now tell me why you picked the Mets.”

Steve laughs. He honestly didn’t put much thought into it.

I.

W-A-N-T-E-D.

N-Y.

T-E-A-M.

He pauses.

B-U-T.

W-O-N-T.

S-U-P-P-O-R-T.

Y-A-N-K-E-E-S.

Bucky lets out a laugh. “Obviously! Good choice. So who’s your favourite player on the Mets? Tell me his stats.”

*             *             *

Steve would have loved to spend the entire night talking, but after about an hour, Bucky was losing track of words and mixing up similar signals, and honestly Steve’s fingers started cramping up.

“We both need more practice,” Bucky says when Steve tells him.

T-O-M-O-R-R-O-W.

Bucky smiles and pecks a kiss to Steve’s nose. “You bet. Rest up those fingers, or better yet tell the left hand that starting tomorrow it’ll be expected to put in a full day’s work too.”

Steve can’t keep the smile off his face.

It may seem like such a small thing from the outside, but the conversation they just had meant the world to him.

It truly felt like he was talking to Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many people have brought up Helen Keller, and since this chapter dealt a lot with deafblind communication, I think it's appropriate to share some information about Helen Keller for those of you who are interested. Helen mainly communicated using finger spelling (that's an umbrella term for using any manual alphabet to communicate) and lip-reading (in her case it was actually 'lip-touching'). [Here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ch_H8pt9M8) is an amazing 1954 video where she demonstrates her communication abilities. I found another [fascinating video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KLqyKeMQfmY) from 1928 where Helen's teacher Annie Sullivan demonstrates how she used the method of Tadoma (touching a person's lips and throat) to teach Helen how to voice.
> 
> Speaking of Helen Keller, the production 'The Miracle Worker' was created based on Helen's 1902 autobiography. It focuses on Helen's early years and how she began her communication journey with Annie Sullivan. There have been many versions made. I enjoyed [this one](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bLTFr_KqVLE) from 2000 and also [this one](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zZsgEQaogVg) from 1962. The 2000 version is in color but it added some 'Hollywood' elements which the original from 1962 didn't have/need, but the 1962 is in black/white and I found it harder to understand the audio. Thanks to [Lovecybelle](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lovecybelle/pseuds/lovecybelle) for telling about this many chapters ago!


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From this point, I won’t be spelling out Steve’s communication with Bucky word-by-word anymore, except for specific situations. When Steve is ‘telling’ Bucky something, you should assume he’s finger spelling for him. 
> 
> Also, 'sanatoriums' are the special hospitals which housed tuberculosis patients. Although the term 'TB ward' is more common in today's fiction/movies, tuberculosis patients were rarely kept in general hospitals due to what people believed was the highly contagious nature of the disease.

They spend a few days at home and while it may look like they’re not doing very much, they work very hard at improving their communication. Now that they’re talking more, Steve realizes pretty quickly that abbreviating words and phrases is essential.

He asks Natasha for assistance and she teaches him some ‘text-speak’ which he’s never understood (or appreciated the need for) before now but it speeds up his finger spelling considerably.

Y-O-U and A-R-E becomes U-R.

T-O-M-O-R-R-O-W becomes T-M-R.

Common endings to words, such as ‘I-N-G’ and ‘E-D’ get their own special symbols, which saves even more time.

Very common words like ‘T-H-E’ get their own abbreviations.

He notices that Bucky keeps a smile on his face and remains encouraging and eager to keep chatting as long as Steve wants, whenever Steve wants, but the huge shift in mental focus that he’s going through is tiring for him.

When Bucky’s barely managing to keep track of what topic Steve’s talking about one evening, Steve gives Bucky’s hand a hard shake.

U.

G-O-T-T-A.

T-E-L-L.

M-E.

W-H-E-N.

U-R.

T-I-R-E-D.

Buck had given him a (very tired) smile and opened his mouth to deny it, but Steve had pressed a finger against his lips.

D-O-N-T.

B.

M-R-S.

P-I-C-K.

Bucky doesn’t need her last name fully spelled out. He gets it right away and he nods. “You’re right. We both gotta be honest. It’ll take me a while to keep up with you, but we’ll work on it every day, I promise. We ain’t letting this thing go backwards.”

*             *             *

Bucky’s annoyed with himself for a few days. He’s careful not to let Steve know. Steve’s not feeling good, he hasn’t _been_ feeling good, and Bucky isn’t going to make it worse by making Steve worry about him.

He’s annoyed because he should have realized how limited his view of the world around him now is.

More importantly, he’s annoyed because he had promised Mrs. Rogers that he would always take care of Steve the best he could—and when Bucky’s not doing it, he’s letting her _and_ Steve down.

Damn it.

Steve’s ma had been a very practical woman whose feet were always planted firmly on the ground. Of course she’d understand that Bucky’s going through a huge lifestyle change right now—but she’d always said that just because somebody wasn’t paying attention to something, it doesn’t mean it didn’t exist.

When Steve got really sick and Bucky was old enough to understand the idea of life and death, she’d be fully upfront with him and tell him whether the situation was bad enough that Bucky should stay at Steve’s side if he wanted to be there in his last moments, or if Bucky could go to school or work or his own family and look in on Steve from time to time.

When Bucky made it clear that supporting Steve and her and was just as important to him as supporting his own parents and sisters, she was always honest with him about their financial situation. If money was very tight, or a particular bill was long overdue, she’d tell both of the boys and they’d come up with a plan together. She knew she couldn’t do it on her own and both Steve and Bucky would know something was wrong and would be sick with worry anyway.

It wasn’t until Bucky’s pa started getting annoyed with the way Bucky would spread out his pay that Bucky realized not everyone in his large family was in agreement with how things were. But he informed his pa that if he was old enough to work and make money, then he was old enough to decide which people he wanted to spend it on. That’s when his pa yelled at him that ‘those damn Irish don’t deserve a penny of our hard-earned money’, and Bucky finally started to understand what his pa’s problem with the Rogers’ really was.

That’s when Bucky’s relationship with his pa really soured. He tried arguing with him at first, but there was no winning with him: If his pa was having trouble finding work, he blamed Mrs. R for taking work away from the ‘real Americans’, or if Mrs. R was having trouble paying some of Steve’s hospital bills, he blamed her for being a ‘lazy immigrant’ and ‘not contributing to society’. Bucky tried pointing out more than once that those ideas completely contradicted each other, but his pa smacked him for being wisecracker, so Bucky hadn’t brought it up again. He found it easier on both of them to just stay out of each other’s way.

Looking back on it, Bucky’s sure that part of the problem was his pa’s inability to accept the fact that he couldn’t support his family by himself, and the Rogers being Irish was an easy target to direct his anger at. Mrs. R never made it easy—her accent would always magically grow thicker when she was around his pa—but everyone else in the Barnes and Rogers households did their best to keep those two apart, and that maintained peace relatively well.

The older he got, the more he and his pa drifted apart, but it hadn’t really bothered him. After all, he had plenty of other family.

He loved his ma and his sisters dearly, but his ma never really knew how to relate to a son. She’d grown up in a family of girls and she was raising a bunch of her own. And she really didn’t know how to relate to a son whose circumstances forced him to go from being a child to a grownup by the age of twelve.

So while Bucky loved his ma and took care of her the best he could, more often than not, when he had a problem on his hands or needed somebody to talk to, his first stop would be Steve and Mrs. R.

Things were always hard, but they had all settled into living in their little corner of Brooklyn Heights. What they didn’t have in money or material goods, they made up for with lots of love, laughter and hugs. There was always something to worry about—Steve getting sick again, somebody losing their job, overdue bills, the landlord trying to kick them out, Steve being behind in school—but even those things became part of routine which they dealt with the best they could.

But having Mrs. R get sick was not part of the routine.

He remembers he was eating dinner with Steve and Mrs. R at their rickety little table when he noticed that she was coughing a lot. She waved it off and said something about bad air.

But after another coughing fit, she pulled her hand away from her mouth and they all saw the specks of blood on her hand.

Bucky remembers feeling like he got punched in the stomach. He knew the signs. He and Steve had been taught the signs to look out for since Mrs. R had started working at the ward. Bucky sat there, struggling to remember how to breathe, while Steve got so pale that Bucky thought he’d pass out.

Their first concern had been for Steve. The automatic response when dealing with somebody who was sick in Steve’s vicinity was to put as much distance between the sickness and Steve as quickly as possible.

Mrs. R got up, grabbed her coat and her hat and wrapped a towel around her mouth. “Steve, open up the windows right now. Bucky, get water and start heating it. Everything I touched in the last few days has to be scrubbed with the good soap. Understood?” He could barely hear her through the towel, but there was no mistaking the firm orders in that Irish accent.

They both nodded, numb with shock.

“I’m going to the hospital. I’ll send word when I know what’s going on. Bucky—scrub _everything_ and then boil my clothes and everything from the bed. Steve, wrap yourself in your blanket and go stand by the open window and don’t move until Bucky has finished cleaning everything.”

She paused by the open door and looked back at them both. “I love you both. You remember that, you hear? I love you both very much and I need you to be the smart boys I know you are.”

Not wasting any more time, she swept out the door.

None of them had known at the time that Sarah Rogers would never come home again.

While Bucky’s mind was numb, his hands carried out the familiar scrubbing routine. Steve wrapped himself up and stuck his head out the window. Neither of them spoke for the next few hours.

They got word from a messenger boy from the hospital a few hours later, confirming what they already suspected.

Mrs. R had tuberculosis.

She sent word a few days later that she had admitted herself into a sanatorium. To their surprise, it wasn’t the one she had worked at. She later explained to Bucky that it was common practice amongst TB staff to not check themselves into the ward they worked at if they got sick. They didn’t want to demoralize their colleagues by dying right in front of them from the very illness which they dealt with every single day.

The doctor insisted her prognosis was good and she would probably come home in a few months.

They all clung to that hope and as the months went by, Bucky and Steve worked extra hard to make enough money to cover the rent at the Rogers’ apartment.

Bucky was allowed to visit Mrs. R once a week. The sanatorium allowed more visits, but Mrs. R set strict limitations. Visiting her took up nearly an entire day, in between the travelling to and from the ward, bundling himself up in the protective clothing she insisted on, and scrubbing himself head to toe once he left the ward.

She refused to allow Steve to see her.

Steve yelled and cried for days, but Bucky promised Mrs. R that he would do whatever it took to keep Steve away. The last thing she wanted was for Steve to also get sick.

There was very little change in her condition until Bucky went to see her in her seventh month at the sanatorium. According to Mrs. R’s rules, he was only allowed to visit her during the patients’ outdoor hours so he’d be sitting in the fresh air while they talked.

She was always lying on her bed amongst the dozens of others ones under the brilliant blue sky and Bucky would sit in a visitor chair, a few steps away from the foot of her bed. He wore the protective gown over his clothes and the mask which Mrs. R insisted he get from the nurses. She put on her own mask and wouldn’t allow Bucky to come any closer.

On this particular day, Bucky noticed right way that she was paler and more frail than she had been previously. Usually she’d make the effort to sit up and prop up her pillow behind her on her own when Bucky arrived—but on this day it had already been set up for her.

Bucky realized with a sinking feeling it might be because she didn’t have the strength to do it herself anymore.

The first few minutes of their visit followed the usual routine.

“You’re both getting enough to eat?”

“Yes, Mrs. R. We’re doin’ fine.”

“Rent’s been paid?”

“Last Monday, yes. I picked up a few double shifts at the docks and Steve’s picked up shifts on Mondays and Thursdays at the bookstore.”

She smiled. “Mrs. Hartley’s a good woman.”

Bucky smiled too. They all knew the Hartley’s store wasn’t really doing well enough for them to be paying to take on extra employees, but when Steve explained their situation, they agreed to give him a few shifts a week. Steve had started working evenings at the picture house, but the shifts weren’t very long and didn’t pay very well. The extra shifts at the bookstore helped make the rest of the rent money they needed.

“He brought home ‘Treasure Island’ the other day. We’ve been reading that. That punk son of yours keeps insisting that he ain’t cheating and reading ahead when I’ve got my double shifts, but I know he’s lying. But at least he’s making a decent effort pretending that he ain’t read it already when I get home.”

She laughed weakly.

Then he’d ask her how she was doing.

Her smile got more strained. “The doctor did a new set of x-rays on Wednesday.”

Bucky nodded, a small bit of hope blooming in his chest.

But her eyes hadn’t looked hopeful at all.

“It’s not good, honey. It’s not good at all. It’s gotten worse. Even if the x-ray hadn’t shown it, I feel worse. I—” Her words dissolved into a coughing fit and she quickly pulled her blanket up to cover her face. When the harsh, wet coughing was done, she emerged from the blanket. She was pale and trembling and Bucky’s hands automatically reached for her to offer comfort and get her blanket settled—but she pulled away and frowned at him. “Bucky! No touching! Remember?”

Bucky yanked his hands back. “Sorry, sorry! I forgot.”

“It’s alright, honey. As long as one of us remembers, that’s all that matters. Let me catch my breath for a minute.”

He nodded, feeling numb.

While he was waiting for her to catch her breath, the patient in the next bed dropped the book she was reading and erupted into a harsh coughing fit. Her hands scrambled to hold onto the book she’d been reading, so there was nothing covering her mouth.

“James Buchanan Barnes! Cover your face!”

Bucky quickly hid his face behind his arms, hopefully shielding himself from the death being spewed from the coughing patient. He remembers being incredibly grateful for the mask which Mrs. R always forced him to put on.

Once she was satisfied that Bucky was protecting himself, she turned on her fellow patient.

“You! Cover your mouth, you twit! Ain’t it bad enough that we’re all sick? Idiot.”

The outburst from Mrs. R hadn’t surprised Bucky. He’d spent his entire life dealing with the Rogers’ temper so this hadn’t been anything new.

The coughing woman waved a dismissive hand in Mrs. R’s direction, but she did cover her mouth with her hands until she was finished coughing.

When Mrs. R was satisfied that her words were being taken seriously, she focused back on Bucky. “Bucky, honey, we have to keep talking about what the doctors said. I don’t want you spending too much time around here, even if we’re outside.”

Bucky nodded. “Okay.”

“I have about a month left.”

Bucky clenched his jaw. “Don’t—don’t—that’s a bunch of hooey, Mrs. R. You’re gonna get better. You just need to stick to doing what the doctors say. You know the routine. Lots of rest, lots of fresh air—”

She shook her head, her eyes sad. Despite how tired she was, he could tell she was smiling behind her mask, trying to make him feel better. “I know these things, Bucky. I’ve seen it for ten years. My train’s about to pull into the station. I’m getting to the end of the line.”

“I—” Bucky struggled to form words around the lump in his throat.

“It’s alright. You’re gonna be fine, and Steve’s gonna be fine. I’m at the end of my line, but you boys still have a ways to go, you hear?”

He managed to nod but his mouth hadn’t been capable of forming words.

“Now, I have two things to ask of you, Bucky. Do you need some time or can I ask them?”

The importance of the situation settled into him and he managed to sit up straight and focus. “I’m ready.”

“First, I want to figure out a safe way for Steve to visit me. It’ll only be once, and it’ll be the last time, but I won’t go without saying goodbye to both of my boys. It’ll be too hard on him otherwise. We’ll have to plan it out, step by step, and you can’t come with him since you’ll need to be clean and ready to help get Steve scrubbed properly.”

Bucky nodded. They would figure it out, he knew they would. Despite the dangers, not letting Steve see his ma one last time wasn’t an option.

“Second, I want you to promise me something.”

He opened his mouth but it had taken him a few tries to form the right answer. “Anything.”

“You boys have a long train ride ahead of you, I know you do. And the best way to make sure you get to the end of the line is for you to take care of each other. You can argue and get into snits with each other, that’s fine, but you have to listen to each other and take care of each other.”

Bucky nodded.

“Promise me, Bucky. You’ll take care of each other until the end of the line, no matter what.”

He nodded, struggling not to cry. “I promise, Mrs. R. As long as I’m breathing, I’ll take care of Steve.”

*             *             *

He sends a mental apology Mrs. R’s way. He’d been so damn wrapped up in himself that he’d forgotten to take care of Steve properly.

He’d been sitting in his own train car, moving forward at a nice pace—and completely ignorant of the fact that Steve’s train car got left behind a few stations ago.

That stops right now.

They’re back together on the same train and they’re moving forward—together.

_I’m back on track, Mrs. R._

_I promise._

_Together til the end of the line._

*             *             *

Steve glances at the timer on the bike and reaches over to crank up the resistance level for one more round. He focuses on his breathing and forces his sore legs to push through a solid 30 seconds of hard pedalling. He watches the timer, praying for the numbers to go down faster.

They don’t listen, but once he reaches the end of his 30 seconds, he decreases the resistance and lets his aching legs slow down while he gets his breathing back under control.

His mood has shifted dramatically over the past few days. He joins Bucky for his morning stretches and uses the bike every evening. He knows the exercise is definitely helping with his mood.

But the biggest boost has come from spending most of the day, every day talking to Bucky. There are certain times of the day when talking isn’t practical—Buck needs his hand to eat and to move the cane when he’s outside, but when he’s got a free hand, they’re busy chatting.

When they’re playing games in the evening or making things with the building blocks it takes them three times longer than before because they’re so busy talking.

And they’re both always smiling like loons during it.

It’s clear that Bucky’s missed Steve as much as Steve has missed him.

Steve can tell Bucky still feels guilty about not having known how badly Steve was doing, but no amount of reassurances will make him go easier on himself. Steve knows he’d be just as stubborn about it if it were the other way around so he doesn’t bother arguing with him too much.

Bucky has stepped back into the role of being Steve’s caregiver and being the captain steering Steve’s ship, and Steve is very happy to let him do it.

It’s a role Steve fully trusts him with.

When he’s done cooling down on the bike, he slowly gets up and stretches, then heads to the bathroom for a shower. It fits their routine better to have Bucky exercise and shower in the morning and Steve do it in the evening. In the evening Steve knows Bucky’s no longer hungry, the dishes are done, the knives are put away and there’s less chance that the intercom will buzz. He can take his time exercising and showering, and then join Bucky until it’s time to go to bed.

He can’t believe how much more relaxed he is now that he can take his time showering.

It’s such a small thing, but it helps a lot.

He finishes showering and puts on a comfortable sweater and sweatpants. He grabs his sketchpad and pencils off the games shelf and goes to sit on the couch next to Bucky.

He hasn’t done any sketching for himself since Bucky’s come home. He’s always happy to draw outlines for Bucky, but he hasn’t been in the mood to work on his own projects for a while.

But at Bucky’s urging, Steve spent more time looking around and seeing if anything inspires him, and lately the urge to put things onto paper has started coming back.

When he’s comfortable on the couch, the first thing he does is turn to Bucky, who’s playing with the new [sliding puzzle game](http://www.braillebookstore.com/Slide-Out.1) Steve’s bought him. It’s a wooden box filled with wooden tiles which can be slid around in the box. There are three sizes of tiles, each one with a little raised dot glued to it to make it easier to push it around. The object of the game is to slide the largest tile to a specific side of the box and out through a wooden slit.

Steve watches him for a bit. Bucky’s got an intense frown of concentration on his face as his fingers drift over the tiles, feeling their shape and creating a mental map of what the box surface looks like. He doesn’t just shove the tiles around—he carefully makes a plan and only starts shifting tiles when he’s got a sequence of steps prepared.

You can take the sniper out of the army, but you can’t take the army out of the sniper.

It actually takes Steve quite a while to solve the thing—and he has the benefit of using his eyes while he’s doing it—so he’s always amazed (but never surprised) when Bucky can solve it even faster than he can.

Before, Steve would try to stick to his side of the couch and not bother Bucky, but they’ve always been  much happier when they’re bothering each other, so they’ve gone back to that.

He reaches out and gently touches Bucky’s thigh. He sees Bucky smile and lift his fingers from the box. He touches Steve’s wrist and feels the leather bracelet.

“Hi, Stevie! Give me a kiss.”

Steve leans over and kisses him, smiling when Bucky run his hand through Steve’s wet hair. Bucky pulls back a bit and nuzzles Steve’s neck. “You smell real good. You used the coconut soap again?”

Steve’s hand is on Bucky’s thigh, so he taps it.

There’s a happy glow in his chest. He loves that Bucky’s deliberately noticing things about him again. Bucky deliberately spends time touching and smelling Steve all over, commenting about the types of clothes Steve’s wearing and what soap he decided to use. If he realizes Steve’s eating or drinking a snack, he wants to know what it is and why Steve likes it and when he discovered it and on and on and on.

Bucky Barnes is back in his favourite place in the world—smack dab in the middle of Steve Rogers’ business.

It’s only fair, since Steve has always liked spending more time involved in Bucky’s business than his own too.

Bucky loudly sniffs Steve’s neck, then smacks a loud kiss to it and leans back, a satisfied smile on his face. He runs his hand along Steve’s thighs and touches the sketchpad. Steve watches his fingers trace the coiled edge of the sketchpad and the pack of pencils.

Bucky’s smile grows bigger. “You gonna sketch something?”

“Yup,” Steve says, tapping Bucky’s exploring hand.

“Something for me or something for you?”

Steve grins and tells him he’s going to do something for himself. Bucky’s grin widens and he gropes for the nearest part of Steve—which happens to be his thigh—and happily jostles it. “That’s great! I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. Before you start working on your masterpiece, you wanna tell me about the biking?”

Steve taps his hand.

“Alright, tell me how it went.”

Bucky rarely asks him yes or no questions anymore and sneakily phrases his questions in ways that don’t let Steve get away with one-word answers anymore.

Steve tells him it went well and he did 30 seconds on level 5.

“Really? Level five?”

“Uh huh.” He taps Bucky’s hand.

“For 30 seconds? That’s great, Rogers! Much better than last week. What was yesterday? 5 seconds on level 2?”

Steve lets out a laugh and smacks Bucky in the shoulder. “You jerk.” He spells that on Bucky’s hand.

Bucky’s laughing too. “It wasn’t 5 seconds, or it wasn’t level 2? I don’t remember. Refresh my terrible memory.”

Steve smacks Bucky’s shoulder again. He tells him he did twenty seconds on level 4.

“Oh, that’s right! Now I remember. Twenty seconds on level 4. My bad.”

Steve’s still laughing. “You’re a jerk, Barnes. That’s the problem.” He spells it as he says it.

Bucky’s still chuckling at him. “Quit being so nasty to me, Rogers. Jesus Christ. Work on your sketching and leave me to my puzzle solving, okay?”

Steve laughs and kisses Bucky’s cheek. He gets comfortable on the couch and opens up his sketchbook. He turns on the television and finds the show he’d recorded the other day. It’s a cooking show, but it hadn’t caught Steve’s attention due to the subject matter, but rather because of how beautiful the host looks with the sunshine streaming in through the window behind her. He presses play, then immediately pauses it, freezing the scene he wants on the screen.

Putting the remote down, he pulls the right pencil out of the package and gets the sketchpad oriented on his lap. He spends a few minutes re-familiarizing himself with his reference points, then he continues sketching. He’s got the basic outline done, now he’s working on her face.

Steve sketches for a while. He pauses from time to time, needing to look away from his sketch and the television screen in order to see the small details better when he looks back. He uses the small breaks to check on Bucky’s progress on the puzzle box.

The large tile has been moved to the top right corner, which actually puts it farther away from the slit on the bottom, but Steve knows it’s all part of a carefully thought out plan in Bucky’s head. Then Bucky pauses, thinking.

For a while, there’s no other sound in the apartment than Steve’s pencil on his sketch pad. Bucky’s fingers are slowly drifting over the tiles, but he’s not moving them.

Although Bucky’s fingers may not be moving a lot, Steve knows his brain is churning at break-neck speed, formulating and discarding one plan after another.

Steve has time to finish most of the woman’s face on his sketch before Bucky suddenly says “Okay,” and sits up straight.

Steve smiles, not taking his eyes off his sketch. He knows what that means.

The sniper has a fully formed plan in his head and is ready to execute it.

One second his fingers are slowly drifting over the tiles, then his fingers start flying over the box, sliding tiles this way and that, barely pausing in between moves.

After less than a minute of moving tiles, Steve hears Bucky let out a happy sigh, and when Steve looks over, he sees Bucky gently sliding the largest tile out through the slit in the box.

That means it’s time for Steve to put down his sketch and properly congratulate Bucky for a job well done.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky continues in his mission to take better care of Steve, and the boys head outside for more walking practice. Enjoy!

Now that Bucky’s focusing a lot more on Steve during the day, he realizes that they’ve developed some very unsafe and unfair habits.

When he’d found Steve sitting by the front door and Steve hadn’t responded to him right away, Bucky’s heart had nearly stopped. It turned out that Steve was fine—he just forgot to communicate in a way that Bucky could understand—but there were several heart stopping seconds where Bucky didn’t know that Steve was fine. Steve could have been seriously injured—he could have been slumped against the front door for hours without Bucky knowing anything was wrong.

Steve could have been slumped there, _dead_ , a few feet away from Bucky and he wouldn’t have known.

He’d put aside his fear during his conversation with Steve, but that situation continues haunting him.

Whenever Bucky hurts himself, Steve knows right away. He can either see Bucky having problems, or if he’s in another room, he can hear if Bucky calls out, or if he knocks something over.

But Bucky can’t see or hear if something happens to Steve.

And that thought is _terrifying_.

If Steve slips in the shower and breaks his leg and can’t get out, he could be lying there for an hour before Bucky would get suspicious and go looking for him.

That’s not right.

That’s not right at all.

The fact that Steve can’t communicate with Bucky except if he’s directly touching him isn’t safe for Steve.

It also isn’t fair for Steve.

Whenever Bucky needs to talk to Steve, Bucky either calls for Steve to come to him, or he goes to find Steve.

Whenever Steve needs to talk to Bucky, Steve always comes to Bucky.

_Always._

It’s a habit born out of necessity—Steve can call Bucky’s name from across the room as much as he wants, but Bucky won’t know.

Bucky doesn’t like that the burden on communicating is always on Steve’s shoulders. Steve already has to do so much for him during the day.

From a safety perspective, and a fairness perspective, this is something Bucky has to fix.

So he spends a few days thinking over how Steve could alert him from across the room.

The answer comes to him when he’s doing his morning stretches in the bedroom and he feels the motion sensor on his arm vibrate.

Steve’s opened the balcony door to let in fresh air.

Wait a second!

Bucky’s nowhere near the balcony door, yet he was alerted to it opening, thanks to the motion detector.

So during breakfast, Bucky asks Steve if they have extra motion sensor things.

Steve doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

“The things that you attached to the windows and the doors so the receiver on my arm vibrates. You had to put something on the windows and doors, right? Do you have another one?”

Steve hands him one of the things after Bucky’s done the dishes.

He’s surprised to discover that the thing is relatively small. It’s a rectangular shape and it’s made out of hard plastic.

“Steve, can you turn it on for me and connect it to my motion sensor?”

Bucky’s glad that Steve isn’t asking him a bunch of questions. He wants to see if his idea will work before he brings Steve in on it.

Steve takes the plastic sensor out of his hands and nothing happens for a while.

Then Bucky feels an unfamiliar vibration pattern coming from the detector on his arm.

“Was that the sensor?” He holds out his hand and Steve hands him the sensor. Bucky carefully turns it in his hand and he discovers a little nob at the top which can be pressed—which triggers the vibration on his arm.

Excellent.

“Okay, Rogers. Are you ready for this? I think I have a whacky idea.”

*             *             *

Bucky’s sitting at the table, working on an art project. As per Bucky’s request, Steve’s been making some more difficult templates for him. The newest kind don’t use the sticky strings to act as guides. Instead, Steve makes the sketch using a pencil, with the [thick sketch paper on a foam pad](http://www.perkinselearning.org/accessible-science/blog/making-quick-and-easy-raised-line-drawings). The lines he draws become indents, which Bucky can feel. He can choose to use the side of paper with the indents, or the side of the paper with raised lines. If he’s feeling really creative, he can apply textures and colors to both sides of the same paper.

This new method allows Steve to add more details to the sketch and it requires more concentration for Bucky to determine what part of the sketch he’s touching.

Bucky had asked Steve to drawn something from the old hometown, so he’s currently working on a picture of Brooklyn Bridge over the river.

He’s been working on this particular sketch for a few weeks. Steve’s put a lot of details into the bridge and the cityscape over the river and Bucky’s taking the time to add different textures and colors to different parts. Just because he probably won’t ever be back in Brooklyn doesn’t mean he can’t pay homage to his old hometown with his art projects. Besides, the city where they’re currently living—and Bucky doesn’t know where that is, but he doesn’t actually care—is fine.

He’s working on one of the tall buildings just to the right of the bridge, when he feels his motion sensor vibrate.

He smiles.

That’s not a window or a door.

That’s Steve.

He pauses, concentrating on the detector. If it buzzes with that particular vibration two more times, it means Steve is in trouble and needs urgent help.

But there’s only the one vibration. That means Steve isn’t hurt. That just means Steve’s calling for him.

He calls out: “Coming!”

He wipes his hand on the moist towel next to him and carefully snaps the lids on the glue pot and the other containers he’s got sitting open around him.

He gets up from the table and wanders around the living room, looking for Steve. His first stop is always the couch, followed by the kitchen, the bedroom and then the bathroom. Steve can’t tell him where he is, but the apartment’s small enough that Bucky can find him relatively quickly.

This time Steve’s sitting on the couch. Bucky sits down next to him and runs his hand up Steve’s arm to his hair. “Hi.” He kisses Steve’s neck. “You hollered?”

He feels Steve turn his head and his lips nuzzle Bucky’s cheek. Bucky can tell he’s smiling.

Bucky smiles, happy that his new idea is working out so well.

He puts his hand on Steve’s thigh. “What do you want, punk?”

He leans against Steve’s shoulder as Steve starts spelling.

He’s making a grocery list and he wants to know what Bucky would like.

“What do you have on the list already?”

Steve lists off the usual items—bread, milk, butter, ham, eggs etc. “Did we eat all those flaky triangle things? With the spinach and feta in them? I liked those. Let’s get more of those.”

Steve shifts a bit and when Bucky touches Steve’s right hand—Steve’s getting pretty good at doing the tactile spelling with his left hand these days—he feels Steve holding a pencil and writing on a pad.

“Hmm. How much coke do we have left?”

Steve tells him he doesn’t know, then shifts as if to get up. Bucky grabs his shirt and pulls him back down.

“You stay. I’ll go check.” Bucky gets up and cautiously makes his way into the kitchen without his cane. He knows by now how much distance there is between the couch and the table, and the table and the kitchen counter. He doesn’t count his steps anymore, but instead, his body knows how much distance it needs to cover. It’s weird and Bucky can’t really explain it in words, but he’s getting more comfortable moving around the apartment without his cane, and that’s all that matters.

He finds the counter and he knows exactly which direction to turn and when to put out his hand so that he’s touching the icebox. He doesn’t exactly manage to grab the handle on the first try—that’s a level of skill he hasn’t gotten to yet—but he does recognize the cool surface of the icebox under his hand, so it just takes some exploring to find the handle.

He opens the icebox and finds the shelf where the soda cans are kept. All the cans he touches have a sticky dot on it—meaning they’re Bucky’s sprite cans. Finally he finds one can without a sticky dot on it, which means Steve only has one can of his precious coke left.

“We need more coke, Rogers. I’ve got enough sprite. How about the chips? I’ll check.” He finds the right cupboard and sits on the floor, carefully feeling inside. He finds the chip bags right away—that’s not hard—but he carefully feels for the plastic dots on them.

He carefully counts how many bags have one, two or no dots.

“We need more salt and vinegar chips. We’re good with other kinds.”

He wanders back to Steve and sticks out his hand. “Anything else you want me to check?”

Steve spells out 'juice'.

So Bucky heads back to the icebox and counts the different juice boxes with the different number of dots on them to figure out which ones they need more of.

It would probably take Steve way less time to put together the grocery list himself, but both Bucky and Steve love doing it together. They’re interacting with each other, Steve can be a bit lazy, and Bucky feels like he’s more involved and that he’s contributing to their household.

*             *             *

Bucky waits a few days until he’s sure that Steve’s feeling much better from their whole communication debacle. Then he tells him he wants to go out for another walk.

But this time he wants to take his cane with him.

Steve asks him if he’s sure.

“Yeah, I’m sure. I know you gotta hold my arm if I’m holding my cane, but I think I’ll feel much better if I can use my cane. I can feel what’s in front of me.”

Bucky doesn’t add that even if the cane doesn’t tell him anything useful, he now associates the cane with safety, and he automatically feels better when he’s got it in his hands. He thinks maybe it has something to do with having more control over his surroundings. He may be exploring the apartment without the cane, but exploring the outside without the cane isn’t something he feels comfortable with.

Steve is willing to give it a try, so they get their jackets and shoes on and head out, this time with Bucky’s cane.

They go down the steps the same way they did the first day (Bucky puts his cane into his holster before he grabs onto the railing), but this time, Bucky’s very pleased to discover that he’s getting down the stairs faster. The stairs actually aren’t as scary as the sidewalk. He’s got the wonderful railing to hang onto, and the stairs surfaces are flat and each one is exactly the same. There are no nasty surprises for him to trip over. And even if people slam into him, Bucky knows his grip on the railing will keep him safe.

He knows he’ll eventually be able to get down stairs without Steve having to help at all.

For now, Steve holds on to his jacket and they move slowly, and he makes it to the ground in one piece.

Then Steve helps him get the cane out of his holster and they get organized. Since Bucky’s holding his cane, Steve hooks his hand into Bucky’s elbow.

Using the cane outside is a whole new experience.

Right away, Bucky feels a little safer than the first day they’d tried this. It’s a relief knowing that if there’s a steep drop-off like a curb or something big in his path, he’ll know about it whether Steve manages to warn him in time or not. It’s nice not being so fully dependent on Steve to provide him information about his surroundings.

He sweeps very thoroughly and he’s moving at a very slow pace, but after a few minutes, he realizes he feels safe enough to start taking actual steps again instead of the slow shuffling. If there’s an area he’s not so sure of, he can stop and re-sweep the area as many times as he wants before continuing.

Steve is being fantastic and he’s keeping pace with Bucky.

As Bucky’s fear slowly recedes, he starts focusing more on what the cane is telling him.

It’s very different from walking inside their apartment. The rough pavement they’re on is making the ball bounce and vibrate much more than the smooth hardwood floors of the apartment or the carpeted hallways. It’s hard to get used to the shakiness.

Then there’s the fact that the cane keeps hitting things on either side of him that he can’t identify. Sometimes there’s something on his right, sometimes on his left, sometimes there’s nothing.

At one point he hits something, then feels the cane jerk in his hand as if it’s trying to jump out of his grip. “Hey!” he tightens his grip on it. “You stay put, you,” he admonishes the cane. Must have gotten stuck in something.

*             *             *

Steve’s watching the mesmerizing rhythm of the ball rolling back and forth over the sidewalk, so he doesn’t notice that Bucky’s swinging the cane too wide until it swings right between the legs of a woman walking past them.

The swinging cane has done a good job so far of making people aware that Bucky needs more space, and they haven’t had to deal with members of the public slamming into them as much as the first day, but not everybody manages to avoid Bucky’s thorough sweeping.

The woman stumbles with a curse, barely managing to catch herself on a railing next to her. Both she and Bucky let out a “Hey!”, although she directs it at Bucky and Bucky directs it at his cane.

She’s glaring at Bucky. “Watch where you put that thing!”

Steve cringes. “Sorry, ma’am. Sorry, sorry. He’s learn—.”

She rolls her eyes and shoves past him with an annoyed “Idiot!”

Well, that went well.

Bucky’s wide swinging continues getting the cane stuck in objects or people. Some people can see the swinging cane when approaching and they flatten themselves against parked cars or buildings while they pass, with Steve giving them a smile and a “Thank you”.

Then there are those who obviously think Bucky should be doing a better job of sharing the sidewalk.

When Bucky narrowly avoids getting the cane tangled in the walker of an older man shuffling past them, Steve acknowledges that while Bucky can’t be completely blamed for the unintended contact, he _will_ need to adjust his sweeping method.

But that’s not something Steve wants to bother Bucky about today.

After Bucky gets the cane wedged underneath a mailbox, he finally demands to know what he’s getting hung up on. Bucky seems annoyed and concerned that he keeps getting stuck on things, so Steve tells him to relax and not worry about it right now. He’s got other things to focus on.

They need to deal with one problem at a time—and right now, Steve’s just thrilled that Bucky’s managing to pick up his feet properly every few steps. He’s still shuffling a bit, but it’s much better than the first time they went out.

Nobody else might understand what a huge accomplishment that is, but Steve knows.

*             *             *

They make it to the same street corner as they had on their first trip. Bucky is still too frazzled by the whole thing to keep detailed track of where they’re going, but he knows they walk on a sidewalk, Steve writes a ‘C’ to indicate they’re approaching the curb, they stop at the pedestrian light button which Bucky presses, and once it starts to vibrate, they cross the street and then sit on the same concrete steps as on their first trip.

They make it back to their apartment building—Bucky has no idea they’ve reached it, but Steve has come to a stop and he’s telling him they’re home and there are stairs—but Bucky wants to keep going.

They turn and walk away from their building in the opposite direction.

Bucky tells Steve he doesn’t want to cross the street again, but he wants to walk a little more. They walk to the other end of their block and slowly turn around and make their way back to their apartment.

Bucky is very pleased when he feels comfortable enough to lift his feet with nearly every step. He only shuffles if the cane tells him he’s moving over a rough area.

That’s a definite improvement from their first trip.

*             *             *

The next day they head out again, but this time Steve asks if he’s willing to cross the street more than once.

Yesterday’s improvement gave Bucky a huge confidence boost, so he’s willing to give it a try.

He makes it down the stairs and they’re walking down their block—Bucky’s very pleased with himself when he correctly identifies a certain bump close to a tree as being the tree root which Steve has told him he’d tripped over on his first day. He slows down and carefully steps over it.

Steve happily squeezes and shakes his hand multiple times.

But having his hand being shaken and squeezed while it’s guiding his cane unfortunately interferes with Bucky’s sweeping. He knows Steve didn’t mean to interfere—he’s just happy and proud of Bucky. It’s a little jarring and disruptive, but not a big deal.

As Bucky gets more comfortable and increases his walking pace, Steve has to steer him a bit faster—which creates a whole new set of problems.

When they were moving very slowly, Steve could take the time to gently pull or push Bucky’s elbow to indicate that he wanted him to turn, stop or go, but when they’re moving faster, Steve’s indicators become harder and more sudden.

When they make a right turn at a street corner, Steve pulls Bucky’s elbow to make him turn, and Bucky’s careful sweeping progress gets interrupted. He keeps a tight hold of the cane and lifts it off the ground as Steve practically drags him sideways. Being turned like that nearly makes his feet tangle up and pulls Bucky off-balance.

It’s only Steve’s arm linked through his that keeps him on his feet.

It’s annoying, but Bucky’s hoping that Steve will realize that pulling and pushing on Bucky’s arm like this will end up with both of them falling flat on their faces on the pavement.

But Steve doesn’t realize anything’s wrong.

They reach an intersection and Steve abruptly yanks him to stop, nearly making Bucky stumble.

Then Steve writes ‘C’ on the back of his palm and pulls Bucky’s hand to the lamp post where he can press the button to make the light change. Bucky nearly gets his feet tangled up with the cane as his hand is pulled, but he manages to lean on the lamp post and stay upright.

Bucky waits. He’s very grateful for the vibrating button, because it gives him a heads up before Steve’s pulling him forward.

He gets ready to search for the sloping part of the sidewalk. They realized yesterday that it’s much easier to step off the curb when he’s using the sloping part, unlike the steep drop-off. Bucky knows the extra step down won’t be a problem when he’s used to it, but for now, the gently sloping curb makes things easier.

Unfortunately, Steve doesn’t give Bucky time to find the slope. Bucky gets the cane positioned properly and starts sweeping—and then Steve’s pulling his arm forward and the cane is lifted off the ground. He’s being dragged down the shallow slope, and even that small incline is enough to make Bucky unsteady on his feet, and he trips.

He lets out an annoyed curse and manages to grab Steve’s jacket to stay on his feet.

“Jesus Christ, Rogers. Stop pulling on me like that. Fuck!”

He feels Steve’s arms loosen around him, but he gives Steve’s jacket a rough shake. “Don’t let go of me when we’re in the middle of the street, idiot! Get me out of the street.”

Steve practically drags Bucky back onto the sidewalk. Bucky’s so tangled up with Steve’s jacket, Steve’s arms, his cane and his own feet that he barely knows where his own body parts are.

Once Steve’s dragged him back onto the sidewalk, Bucky pushes Steve back a bit so he can properly grasp his cane.

“Find us a place to sit down so we can talk. We gotta get this figured out before you get me killed.”

He feels a bit guilty that he’s being so nasty to Steve, but this whole thing is very stressful, and Steve is supposed to be helping him, not making things harder.

Steve touches Bucky’s arm very tentatively and slowly guides him somewhere. The cane hits something and when Steve pulls Bucky’s hand down, he touches the object and realizes it’s a bench.

He carefully sits down and takes a few seconds to calm down. He folds up his cane and puts it beside him so he has a free hand to talk to Steve. He reaches out and finds Steve. His body’s stiff. Bucky can’t tell if he’s angry or upset over what Bucky said.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. That wasn’t fair. I know everything you do is to help me.” Bucky finds Steve’s hand and brings it to his lips for a kiss…when he freezes.

They’re in public. Just because he can’t see any of the public doesn’t mean…

…wait a second!

He remembers what he and Steve had discussed before. It doesn’t matter if they’re in public. If he wants to kiss Steve’s hand—in broad daylight, in _public_ —he can.

His stomach twists with a bit of fear, but he knows Steve hadn’t lied to him. Steve had kissed Bucky multiple times during their first walk outside and nothing had happened to either of them.

Taking a deep breath, Bucky pulls Steve’s hand to his lips and kisses it.

Then he freezes, waiting.

When nothing happens, he decides to do it again. He kisses Steve’s hand again, letting his lips linger for a few more seconds this time. Then he waits again.

When nothing happens again, he realizes Steve was right. There’s still that little ball of fear sitting in his gut—it’ll probably be there for a while—but Bucky feels a pleased smile on his face.

This is fantastic!

Then he’s abruptly pulled out his musings when Steve pulls his hand free and flattens Bucky’s hand on his thigh. He tells Bucky he would never do anything to intentionally hurt him. Never _ever_. His fingers are shaking as he’s spelling and he’s pressing each letter hard into Bucky’s palm.

Bucky forces himself to refocus on their conversation. “I know you wouldn’t, Stevie. I know. I’m sorry for what I said. I’m stressed and this is new for both of us. I should have said something earlier instead of waiting until I got into a snit. I’m real sorry.” He brings his hand up Steve’s chest and gently strokes his cheek. “Forgive me?”

Steve pulls Bucky’s hand off his face and taps on it multiple times. Then Steve asks him what he’s been doing wrong.

“You—you can’t yank on my arm when you’re steering me. It makes the cane go all over the place and I lose track of what I’m doing and it pulls me off-balance.”

Steve doesn’t say anything.

“The way you’re doing it, is that how everybody leads deafblind people?”

Steve tells him to wait and he’ll look up information on his phone. Bucky waits, enjoying the smells around him and exploring the wooden seat and metal railing of the bench with his fingers. He’s enjoying the cool, smooth metal of the bench railing—until he touches something soft and squishy.

He yanks his fingers back and wipes his fingers on his pants. Eww. Probably gum…or bird poop?

“Steve, what’s on the railing here? I touched something soft and gross.”

Steve shifts next to him—probably leaning around Bucky to take a look. He tells Buck it was gum.

Okay, so that was gross, but not as gross as it could have been.

He rubs his hand on his pants more thoroughly and makes a mental note not to touch Steve’s face until he’s gotten home and washed his hand.

Steve tells him they’ll bring some wipes with them next time they go out.

“And water would be good too. I know we ain’t exactly racing along, but if we don’t know how long we’re gonna be out for, water would be good.”

Then Bucky leaves Steve to do more reading on his phone. He carefully keeps his hands on his lap, not wanting to touch more gross things.

Finally, Steve tells him he’s been doing it wrong. He tells Bucky he’s:

S-O-R-R-Y.

S-O-R-R-Y.

S-O-R-R-Y.

S-O-R-R-Y.

Bucky gently closes his fingers to stop Steve’s flood of apologies. He knows Steve probably feels really bad for not looking up more information before they started this whole ‘walking-outside’ adventure.

“That’s okay, sweetheart. I didn’t know it would be this complicated either.” He carefully brings his head closer to Steve, finds his shoulder and then presses his forehead against the side of Steve’s head. “Don’t do something silly like blame yourself, okay? You’re not being silly, are you?”

He feels Steve hesitantly rub his hand.

He pulls his hand out from under Steve’s and smacks him on the leg. He would have flicked him on the nose instead, but he remembers his gross hand at the last second. Touching Steve with germy hands is a no-no—serum or no serum. “You liar. I know you’re being silly and blaming yourself. Quit it. Let’s focus on fixing the situation instead, okay?”

The urge to kiss Steve on the cheek is very, very strong and he forcibly restrains himself—getting arrested would turn this day into even more of a…

…wait a second!

Ignoring the ball of fear in his belly, he finds Steve’s cheek with his nose. He kisses it and then presses his smile against it.

He’s never going to get over how wonderful this is!

But back to business. He flips his hand back over so they can talk. “What did your research tell you?”

Steve tells him he’s been holding Bucky’s arm wrong.

“That’s okay. Do you know how to hold my arm better?”

Tap.

“Show me.”

He feels Steve shift to put more distance between them, and then Steve gently curls his fingers around the back of Bucky’s upper arm.

That…will not solve their problem.

He tries to be gentle when breaking the news to Steve. “Okay, that’s great. But the main problem is that you’re pulling or pushing on my arm. We gotta have a way of communicating without you moving my arm so much. I don’t wanna interfere with the cane’s movements so much. It’s really distracting.”

Steve isn’t doing anything—his hand stays curled around Bucky’s upper arm, so Bucky thinks he’s probably still a bit upset over the whole thing. Well, there’s no reason they have to solve this problem while sitting on this bench.

“Alright, why don’t we head home—nice and slow—and when we’re home, we can take the time to come up with signals.”

*             *             *

That evening, Bucky spends time thinking up different signals Steve can use. He uses his thigh to represent his own arm and he wraps his hand around it and tries different things.

He discards any signals which involve him pushing or pulling on his leg. But signals that are too light—like stroking with different fingers—are too difficult to feel properly through a thick jacket or sweater.

And the signals have to be different enough that Bucky will be able to quickly understand them while they’re moving around.

He figures out that squeezing is a pretty good signal.

Then he realizes that he can move his hand up and down on his leg without his leg shifting.

“Steve? Come here and sit with me for a second. I wanna try something.”

Steve sits down on his right side and Bucky tells Steve to let him know how he feels about the signals he’s thought up.

He wraps his hand around Steve’s upper arm and gives it a quick but strong squeeze.

“That can mean stop. It’s quick. Then two squeezes—” Bucky demonstrates. “—can mean go. Sliding up the arm—” he slides his hand up Steve’s arm until his fingers catch on Steve’s armpit, “—means turn left—when you do it on my right arm it’ll feel like you’re trying to push me left without actually pushing me—and sliding down to the elbow—” he demonstrates, “—means turn right. That’ll kind of feel like you’re about to tug my elbow to go right, but you won’t actually be pulling. You try.”

He lowers his hand and feels Steve gently curls his hand around Bucky’s upper arm.

There’s nothing for a while, until Bucky feels a little…something…happening on his upper arm.

“Rogers, I love you, but you gotta do the signals harder. I appreciate you worrying about the physical state of my arm—seeing how it’s the only one I’ve got left—but there’s a huge difference between you doing the signals hard enough so I can feel them, and you actually hurting me. Come on, try again. Little harder.”

Steve tries again, and this time, Bucky clearly feels the strong squeeze. Steve moves through the different signals and Bucky can easily differentiate between them.

Then Bucky stands up and he pulls out his cane. He asks Steve to repeat the signals while he’s sweeping with his cane to see how it feels.

It works great.

They move through the signals, with Steve randomly rotating between them and Bucky telling him what they mean. Steve’s confidence seems to have returned, so Bucky’s pleased when Steve suggests some changes.

Two squeezes should mean ‘slow down’, Steve suggests, and three squeezes should mean ‘go’ or ‘go faster’.

“I’m happy with that. We’ll have to practice a lot. Plus, can you try to let me know when we’re approaching stairs or a curb or something before we get there? That way I can look for it with the cane and I know what’s coming up.”

Tap, tap.

“Okay, good. Now, come cuddle and tell me about any interesting people we saw on our walk today.”

Steve curls up next to him and takes his hand. He tells Bucky despite the stress of the day, he was happy that Bucky felt comfortable giving him some kisses when they were outside.

Bucky grins. “I ain’t gonna lie—it felt weird and scary, but I’ll get used to it. And you go ahead with the kissing too. It’s gonna be weird for a while, but the quickest way to get past that is to keep practicing.”

His hand is pressed to Steve’s lips and he can feel Steve smiling. Steve tells him that’s the kind of practice he’s willing to do whenever Bucky wants.

Bucky laughs. “Yeah, that ain’t exactly a hardship, punk, is it?”


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Steve spend more time practicing how to walk outside, and they both have some homework to do. I embedded two videos into the chapter so you can follow along with Steve's research if you want. Enjoy!

Steve never imagined how difficult it would be to take on the role of a sighted guide.

It’s why he hadn’t bothered to look up any information before going out for their first walk.

He’s been mentally kicking himself for that ever since. He realized it had been a big mistake on his part to not look at the ‘walking-outside’ activity from Bucky’s perspective before going out. If he had done that, he would have been able to anticipate some of their problems—or at least he would have realized that he should look up some information before going.

But what’s done is done. He screwed up, he’s apologized, and now they need to move forward and start doing things right and he needs to properly fulfill his responsibilities as a sighted guide.

He hadn’t even known there was a special title for leading around blind or deafblind people, but that’s what he is when he’s responsible for leading Bucky around outside.

Being Bucky’s eyes and ears when they’re walking around outside is the most important part of being a sighted guide. He needs to be constantly scan the area around them to identify potential obstacles and dangers and make sure he keeps Bucky safe from them.

But being Bucky’s eyes and ears isn’t the end of it. He can’t steer Bucky around the way he would steer a car. He has to use the proper signal to tell Bucky what’s coming up ahead and what Bucky needs to do in preparation. He has to make sure his signals are clear and easy to understand but don’t interfere with the cane’s movements, plus, he has to time the signals properly. He can’t tell Bucky something too early because Bucky will get confused if nothing happens, but if he tells him too late, Bucky won’t have time to understand the signal and get mentally and physically prepared for it.

When they go out for more practice the next day, it’s Steve who’s asking Bucky to walk slower so he has time to fulfill his own responsibilities.

Walking outside is a serious task that requires full concentration from both of them. If either of them aren’t having a good day, they don’t go out. From the time they step foot out of their door, until they step back inside, they need to be completely focused.

Just walking down their block safely is a huge task.

Steve keeps a firm grip on Bucky’s upper arm but he keeps his arm very still so he’s not yanking on Bucky’s arm.

He squeezes Bucky’s arm three times to get moving. Bucky’s getting more better at stepping over and around obstacles which he can detect with his cane, but Steve needs to watch out for unexpected things like puddles, car doors opening, construction cones, broken branches, pedestrians and a hundred other things that might hurt or startle Bucky—not to mention the garbage and piles of dog poop which they sometimes come across.

When they get close to one of these obstacles, Steve runs his hand up or down Bucky’s arm to indicate that he wants him to make a slight shift in a certain direction. When they approach certain obstacles which Bucky can’t just step around (like stairs or curbs), Steve writes the corresponding letter symbol on the back of Bucky’s hand so he knows what’s coming up.

It takes a lot of practice and concentration until Steve can reach around with his right hand and write the capital letter he wants to use on the back of Bucky’s hand—while Bucky’s hand is busy sweeping, _and_ while they’re moving forward. Plus, while Steve’s trying to do that without interfering with Bucky’s movements, he still has to keep an eye on their surroundings. Steve’s so bad at it at first that they practice walking up and down their hallway in their apartment building so at least Steve doesn’t have to worry about missing any dangers around them while he’s trying to write. Eventually Steve can reach over, find Bucky’s arm with his right hand and run down it to Bucky’s hand with a light enough touch that he’s not interfering with his cane movements. He can draw the relevant letter without having to look at Bucky’s hand while he’s doing it.

Crossing the street remains one of the most stressful and complicated procedures. Not only is dealing with crowds of people at an intersection stressful, but the curb itself can come in different shapes and sizes.

Steve has never taken the time to actually look at the type of curbs which exist but that’s changed now. Many intersections have sloping curbs where a gentle incline makes the transition from sidewalk level to street level very smooth. Some of the sloping curb areas have yellow pads which are covered in small round bumps that Bucky can feel with his cane and underneath his shoes. Other sloping curb areas have grooves and bumps carved into the pavement, which Bucky can also feel with his cane. Along with Steve telling Bucky when they approach a curb, if there’s a sloping curb, Bucky can feel when he’s getting to the edge of the sidewalk and when he’ll be on the street. Plus, Steve doesn’t have to worry about Bucky tripping off the edge of the curb.

But Steve quickly realizes that the existence of the sloping curbs isn’t always the best or least stressful option for Bucky. Sometimes there are many people waiting to cross and they have to navigate through the crowd in addition to dealing with crossing the street. Sometimes these people have strollers, walkers or are in wheelchairs which means they also want to use the sloping part of the sidewalk. Sometimes the sloping curb is too far from the pedestrian signal posts, and Bucky really enjoys keeping his hand on the vibrating button while he’s waiting for the light to change, so sometimes Steve will deliberately chose to stay close to the post and have them step down the high part of the curb. If there’s a big crowd waiting to cross the street, Steve will try to find a less crowded spot, which often has a high curb. Dealing with the curb isn’t that big of a deal for Bucky when he’s got his cane—but dealing with jostling from other people and having to dart left and right throughout their crossing is a stress they don’t need.

When they reach a curb, Steve squeezes on Bucky’s arm to get him to stop. If they’ll be walking down a sloping curb, Steve just writes ‘C’, but if they’re using the other part of the curb and Bucky will have to step down, then Steve writes ‘CC’. When the light changes, Steve squeezes Bucky’s arm three times to get him going and Bucky uses the cane to help him find the edge of the curb and safely step into the street. When they get close to the other side of the street, Steve again writes ‘C’ or ‘CC’ to let Bucky know what he’ll have to step up on.

Steve had thought that walking with Bucky would be a depressing exercise for him, since he can’t easily talk to Bucky when he’s using his cane—but it turns out that they’re both way too busy for chit-chat.

It takes way too much concentration and focus for him to safely guide Bucky.

It takes several days until Steve gets into a good rhythm. After about two weeks of practice, he’s no longer forgetting to signal things, he’s rarely using the wrong signals, and he knows exactly when and how Bucky needs to be signalled for their walk to be smooth and safe.

As Steve gets more accustomed to his responsibilities as a sighted guide, he focuses more on how Bucky’s doing.

Using the cane has huge benefits. Bucky feels much more comfortable walking around with his cane telling him what’s in front of him. He barely shuffles his feet unless the cane tells him he’s going to be moving over very rough ground.

Plus, unlike that first day when people were constantly bumping into Bucky, when he has the white cane it automatically lets people know that he’s blind. A lot of people see them walking from far down the block and they’ll automatically get out of their way without Steve having to say anything. Even if people don’t know what the white cane represents, when they see Bucky swinging his cane around, a lot of people go out of their way to clear a path for them.

But just because people know that Bucky’s blind doesn’t mean that all of them appreciate Bucky taking up the entire sidewalk with his wide swinging.

Bucky often swings the cane right into people’s paths and gets the cane stuck in wheelchairs and walkers. He also gets the cane stuck under benches, mailboxes and in fences. His swing pattern is unpredictable so Steve finds it hard to steer him away from certain objects or people in time before Bucky’s cane encounters them. Bucky sweeps the cane all over the place, re-sweeping areas he’s not comfortable with and moving the cane in different patterns which only seem to make sense to Bucky.

Steve wants him to be comfortable when walking around so he hates the idea of forcing him to limit his cane movements, which is why he lets Bucky use the cane the way he wants to do it, and Steve spends his time apologizing to his fellow Brooklyn Heights citizens.

But after a few weeks of practice, Steve feels that Bucky is comfortable enough with the current walking situation, so he should be able to better control how he’s using his cane.

Steve knows it’s mostly his fault.

In addition to not researching the role of a sighted guide properly, he hadn’t thought to research the proper use of a cane. He knew Bucky would be using it to get information about his surroundings, but he had always thought that Bucky would just figure it out naturally. He never realized that Bucky’s method of cane-use might be a problem for the rest of the public.

After just a little bit of research, Steve realizes that there are very simple and specific methods for using a cane—and if he hadn’t been an idiot and had bothered researching in the first place, he could have taught Bucky these methods to start with.

But spending time being angry with himself wouldn’t help solve the situation.

Instead, he spends time watching multiple videos where blind individuals demonstrate how to use a cane properly when walking around and he reads websites with tips and information. That’s when he learns that the concept of ‘walking around outside while blind’ is something that’s so complicated that there’s a specific category for all information related to the learning of it:

Orientation and Mobility Training.

In fact, he learns that some sighted people have made it their careers to be orientation and mobility instructors. That’s how complicated it is—people can make careers out of helping others with it.

So Steve carefully [watches](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=34H0k0gQElY) [videos](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xi0JMS1rulo) and reads websites and takes notes. He borrows Bucky’s cane and practices the techniques. It’s slow going. A lot of the information is geared towards blind people who can hear, and there’s very little information specific to deafblind people—especially for people who have complete dual sensory loss like Bucky.

But Steve knows by now that as long as he pays attention and takes his time, he’ll be able to figure this out.

*             *             *

On a rainy afternoon when they’ve spent the day being lazy and comfortable at home, Steve tells Bucky that he wants to talk to him about how he uses the cane.

“The cane? What do you mean?”

Steve lets him know he’s not using the cane properly.

“What do you mean ‘properly’? I’m using the cane all the time.”

Rub, rub. Apparently there’s a right way to use the cane and a wrong way, and Bucky’s been doing it the wrong way. Steve is quick to tell him it’s Steve’s fault—he never researched proper cane-use techniques.

Bucky’s a little concerned. He’s gotten very comfortable using his cane and he’s not looking forward to re-learning everything.

“What am I doing wrong? Everything?”

Rub, rub, rub. Steve gently squeezes his hand. That doesn’t really reassure Bucky and he nervously waits for Steve to elaborate.

Steve tells him he’s swinging the cane too wide.

Bucky has no idea what that means. “What? The cane is supposed to be swung side to side. I can’t get enough information if I don’t do it like that.”

Steve tells him he’s been tripping people.

Bucky gapes in Steve’s direction. “ _What_? I’ve been tripping people? Oh, my God, when?!”

According to Steve, Bucky’s been doing it a lot.

“Are you kidding me? Oh, my God! Is that normal? Do people trip other people with the cane?”

Rub, rub, rub.

“Oh, shit. What am I doing wrong?”

Steve tells him he’s swinging the cane too wide.

Ah. That’s what he’d meant. “I swing too wide?”

Tap.

He can’t help but feel disappointed. “I thought I was doing well. I can’t believe I’ve been tripping people. Damn. Look at me being a public nuisance.”

Another squeeze. Rub, rub, rub.

Steve’s hand runs up his arm and then he feels Steve forehead against his temple, his lips moving by his ear.

It’s nice, but that won’t help Bucky be a better member of the public.

“Can you show me what I’m doing wrong?” Bucky asks.

They stand up. Bucky pulls out his cane and lets it unfold. He feels Steve stand behind him with one hand around his waist and the other holding his hand and the cane.

Steve releases his hand and taps Bucky’s chest. Then he grabs his hand and moves the cane side to side the way Bucky usually does it.

Then he rubs Bucky’s hand.

He grabs his hand again and moves the cane side to side again, but instead of letting his arm sweep while fully extended, Steve bends Bucky’s arm so his elbow is tucked just above his right hip. Then he swings Bucky’s hand side to side. He doesn’t let Bucky move his entire arm, only his hand. It’s only his wrist that’s moving the cane, not his entire arm.

Tap, tap, tap.

Bucky frowns. “Are you serious? I can’t feel anything useful if I’m only sweeping like that. That’s too narrow.”

Steve squeezes his hand, trying to calm him. Then Steve tells him that Bucky only needs to know what’s directly in front of him. He doesn’t need to know what’s three feet away from him.

Bucky chews on his lower lip, thinking that over.

Well—it’s not how he’s used to doing things…

But Steve is technically right.

Sometimes Bucky still thinks the way he did when he had his sight and hearing. Years spent working in dangerous environments like the docks had taught him to always be scanning around and to be gathering information from a big area. It’s one of the skills that had allowed him to take on the role of a sniper relatively easily.

That, and his ability to do lots of math in his head with relative ease.

But anyway, Bucky needs to remember that it’s no longer his job to scan his whole environment for dangers. That’s Steve’s job.

Looks like his scanning responsibilities only need to include what’s right in front of him.

Bucky sighs. “Okay. This might take me a while to get right, Steve. It’s a whole different way of looking at things. But I guess we’ve done okay changing the way we do things so far, right?”

Tap, tap, tap.

A kiss on his palm.

Then Steve asks him if he wants to practice a bit.

Bucky feels the motion sensor vibrate. Steve’s opened the front door.

“Right now?”

Tap.

“Okay. Let’s go see if this is something that’ll take me a decade to get right, or if I can go back to being a considerate citizen some time sooner than that.”

Bucky puts on his shoes, tightens the elastic coils and squeezes past Steve and out the door. He waits while Steve steps behind him again. They do the tiny sweeping motion.

Bucky makes a face. “I can’t feel either wall like that. I wanna feel at least one wall so I know what’s going on.” Walking without having the cane touch anything still creeps him out. It’s too much like he’s walking into a dark abyss. In the apartment, he’s now comfortable enough to walk around without having the cane touch walls and furniture—but outside of their apartment is a different story.

Steve pushes on his hip and nudges him over. Then they do the sweeping again. This time the cane is hitting the wall. That’s better. It allows him to mentally picture the wall and where he is in relation to it.

He’s no longer just walking through a dark abyss.

Steve untangles Bucky’s hand from the cane, leaves it dangling from the wrist strap and asks Bucky if he wants to try going down the hallway on his own.

Bucky thinks it over. They’ve been down this hallway dozens of times already and Bucky knows the entire area is covered in smooth carpet and there’s nothing for him to trip over.

“There ain’t anybody else here, is there?”

Rub.

“Alright, I’ll give it a try. But come grab me if anybody comes into the hallway.”

Tap.

Steve kisses his neck and gives him a little shove forward.

Yeah, I love you too, Rogers.

Bucky shakes the cane handle back into his hand, gets himself lined up so he’s hitting the wall with each sweep, and then he’s ready.

He walks forward, keeping his elbow close to him and doing the narrow sweeping. Sometimes he stops hitting the wall, so that’s his cue to move himself over. Sometimes the vibration he gets from hitting the wall changes. He touches the object that made the different vibration. It’s made out of wood as opposed to the plaster of the wall. And there’s a doorknob on it. He realizes these are the other apartment doors.

He continues, paying careful attention to when he’s hitting the wall versus a door, but he’s too  focused on doing the sweeping properly to keep track of how many doors he’s passed. He’s moving along, when the cane hits something in front of him. Bucky sweeps side to side. The obstruction is solid and stretches the entire length of his sweep. He widens his sweep, trying to see if he can get around whatever it is. But the object is very wide. He can’t feel the ends of it with his cane.

Oh! He must have reached the main door.

He steps closer to it and touches it with the back of his hand to confirm. Cool, solid wood, and there’s the round metal doorknob—larger and thicker than the ones on the apartment doors. He realizes this wood is cooler to the touch than the apartment doors had been. That makes sense. People’s apartments are warmer than the outside.

Definitely the front door.

He carefully turns around. He presses his back against the door, feeling the doorknob digging reassuringly into his back. He can picture exactly where he’s standing and what his surroundings look like.

He shuffles sideways until the cane hits the wall. Then he’s moving forward again, focusing on doing the sweeping properly.

He’s still not counting the doors or his steps so he has no idea where Steve is, but the narrow sweeping motion is become more natural.

He’s moving along at a steady pace…

…until the cane smacks into something standing directly in his path. He freezes and re-sweeps, just to make sure he wasn’t imagining things.

But no—the cane is smacking into something right in front of him. There shouldn’t be anything in the middle of the hallway.

He explores the object, poking at it with the cane. It feels…squishy, soft. And it’s not that wide either.

“What the hell is—Oh, my God! Rogers! Is that you? That better be you. Don’t tell me I’ve been poking one our neighbors with my cane and you haven’t stopped me!”

A hand touches his own and Bucky drops the cane, letting it dangle from his wrist and he runs his fingers along the strange hand. There’s the leather bracelet.

One bead. Di, di, dit. Dah. Dit.

Definitely Steve. Thank goodness.

The punk’s hand is shaking. He’s probably laughing. Bucky runs his hand up his arm to his face and runs his hand over his face to check.

Yup, definitely laughing.

Bucky rolls his eyes and struggles not to laugh. “You think you’re pretty funny, punk, huh? Standing in the middle of the hallway, waiting for me to figure out what and who you are? But ain’t it great that I figured it out all by myself? You’ll be pleased to know, you don’t feel anything like a door or a wall.”

That makes Steve laugh harder.

Bucky smirks at him. “I know. I’m such a charmer.”

Moments later, Bucky feels something flick him on the nose. He’s startled for just a moment, but he knows it was Steve. He lets out a laugh, grabs his cane and gently smacks Steve in the legs. “Being disrespectful to the poor deafblind person, huh? I’m telling your ma as soon as I see her. I have a list I’m keeping in my head.”

Steve’s hands run up his sides to his face and then he’s got Steve’s face pressed against his, and Steve’s kissing him. They’re nice, soft kisses. Apology kisses.

Bucky smiles. “That’s better.” He kisses Steve one more time, then pulls back. “Now, back to business. Was that good or do I need to adjust something?”

Steve tells Bucky that he did a great job, but he needs to coordinate his steps with his cane movements.

“What? How?”

Steve steps behind him and wraps his arms around him, one hand putting the cane handle back into Bucky’s hand and curling around Bucky’s hand so they’re moving the cane together. His other arm is holding Bucky’s hip. He turns Bucky so they’re facing down the hallway, away from the front door.

Steve gently kicks the back of Bucky’s right foot. Bucky obediently moves his right foot forward. As he’s moving his foot forward, Steve is moving his hand so the cane tip swivels to sweep in front of his left foot.

Then Steve kicks the back of Bucky’s left foot. When they take the step forward, Steve moves the cane to sweep in front of his right foot.

Oh!

Steve wants him to sweep an area before he’s putting his foot into it. That way he’ll know what he’s stepping into.

Bucky keeps moving his feet, maintaining a steady rhythm with his steps, and Steve continues moving the cane back and forth.

When the cane hits the end of the hallway, they turn around and go back.

Bucky’s settling into the rhythm—right foot forward, cane sweeping left; left foot forward, cane sweeping right. It’s actually easier to remember to keep his sweeping narrower with this new rhythm. He only has time to sweep a little bit on one side, before he has to move to the other side if he wants the cane getting to that area before his foot.

He picks up the pace, walking and sweeping a bit faster. He feels Steve loosening his grip gradually until he’s no longer touching Bucky at all.

Bucky ends up encountering the door much sooner than he thought, so he spins himself around and continues—but he ends up kicking his cane when he takes a step. When he takes another step, the cane is there again.

“Damn it. I lost the rhythm.” Looks like he got overconfident. He slows down and gets himself oriented again.

Left foot forward, cane sweeping right. Right foot forward, cane sweeping left.

Again, once he’s in the rhythm, he’s flying down the hallway.

He realizes that he’s okay with doing the narrow sweeping. Steve was right—he’ll be fine only covering the area he needs to cover.

He really was sweeping way too much. There’s no need to sweep areas where he isn’t going to put his feet, is there? Somebody else—namely Steve—can worry about what’s going on in those other areas.

Bucky Barnes, the sniper has officially retired. Somebody else can do wide scans from now on.

He encounters the end of the hallway, turns, and takes time to get set up before he starts walking again.

After a few more trips up and down the hallway, he stops when he’s back at the front door.

That’s when it hits him—he’s been walking by himself, outside their apartment and he hasn’t just gone down the hallway once, he’s done it multiple times!

Walking. By. Himself!

He’s been going up and down the hallway, he didn’t get scared, he didn’t bump into anything and he walked all by himself!

He turns and grins down the hallway, where he knows Steve is standing somewhere, watching him.

“Look at me walking in the hallway by myself and doing the sweeping right! I’m just full of accomplishments today, ain’t I?”

He smiles and heads back towards Steve, making sure he’s hitting the wall as he goes. He’s getting used to the rhythm now, so he can focus on counting the apartment doors as he passes them. He knows their apartment is the third door on his left.

He stops at the third door. “Ta da!”

A moment later, he feels Steve squeezing his hand and then he’s being pulled into Steve’s arms. Steve’s jostling him happily, his chest moving.

Bucky smiles into Steve’s neck.

“I think that earned me a special present, didn’t it?”

Steve’s chest vibrates like he’s laughing and one of Steve’s hands moves down his back and smacks his ass.

Bucky laughs and smacks a kiss on Steve’s neck. He untangles himself from Steve and feels for the doorknob.

“Hurry up and get inside, punk. I want my present.”

He feels Steve grab his hand. All Steve spells out is:

J-E-R-K.

Bucky lets out a laugh and shoves open their door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found three youtube channels which feature visually impaired individuals who post videos about their daily lives, focusing on how their blindness affects or doesn't affect certain daily activities. The two 'cane-use' videos I embedded in the chapter came from two of these channels. The three channels are here: [HowCaseySeesIt](https://www.youtube.com/user/KCfan7989/videos), [BreakingBlind](https://www.youtube.com/user/BreakingBlind/videos) and [The Tommy Edison Experience](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL775406A89C7B0AE9). I found a lot of the videos interesting, and most of them are quite short.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to [Kawherp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kawherp/pseuds/kawherp) who had the idea for this amazing story arc.
> 
> Get the tissues ready, folks, and enjoy!

Bucky wakes up slowly, always enjoying the feeling of being able to wake up but knowing he doesn’t have to leave the warm comfort of his bed right away. After years of being told when to get up—by his teachers, by his bosses, by Steve not wanting to be late for church, by his military commanders, by his prison guards—it’s very nice being able to wake up and just lie here.

He blinks up at the white ceiling and slowly stretches his arms above his head, letting out a satisfied yawn.

Steve is still softly snoring beside him. Bucky carefully lowers his arms so he doesn’t wake him. He rolls to his side and stares at Steve sleeping.

Steve’s hair is a mess, sticking up all over the place. His face is mushed half into the pillow and he’s kicked the blankets off himself—and onto Bucky—sometime during the night, and the blue shirt he sleeps in is rucked up.

Bucky carefully reaches over and gently tugs the shirt back down. Steve keeps snoring and doesn’t stir.

Bucky watches him sleep for a while. He glances at the clock on the bedside table and sees it’s ten minutes before they usually get up, so he makes himself comfortable. He curls up on his side with his hands under the pillow so he can keep watching Steve sleep.

It’s not a hardship. He’s warm, very comfortable and he gets to watch Steve sleep.

This is the true meaning of happiness.

When ten minutes have gone by, Bucky reaches over with his left hand and gently strokes Steve’s cheek.

“Good morning, sleepy.”

Steve’s breath catches slightly and he abruptly stops snoring. His eyes blink open and he’s looking at Bucky, those blue eyes sleepy and relaxed. A smile tugs on Steve’s lips.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve mumbles, the words half lost in the pillow. He shifts, grabs Bucky’s hand and kisses it.

“How’d you sleep?” Bucky asks, gently rubbing Steve’s lip with his thumb.

“Good. You?”

Bucky nods. “Same.”

Steve shifts and stretches, letting out a groan. Then he rolls on top of Bucky and rubs his nose against Bucky’s. “Guess what?”

Bucky smiles up at him, loving the happy sparkle in Steve’s eyes. “What?”

Steve kisses him. “I love you. Did you know that?”

Bucky laughs into the kiss and tangles his hands in Steve’s hair. “Nope. I had no idea. Why don’t you say it a couple more times? Just to make sure I got it.”

Steve laughs and kisses him again. “Wisecracking jerk.”

Bucky grins. “That’s definitely me. But you love me.”

Steve shakes his head. “No, I don’t. I take it back.”

“You can only do a take-back if you didn’t mean it. And I know you did. So—no take-backs.”

Steve lets out a laugh and presses a hard kiss onto Bucky’s lips. “Jerk.”

“I might be a jerk, but I’m a jerk you love. You said so yourself.”

Steve smiles. His eyes are filled with such warm affection that Bucky can’t help but smile back. Steve kisses him and rubs his nose with his own again. “I do, so help me God. I love you, Buck.”

…

And then Bucky wakes up.

One second he’s watching Steve smiling at him and hearing him say he loves him…

…and moments later, Steve starts to fade and his words start to dim.

And Bucky’s back to darkness and silence.

He blinks hard, looking around, half convinced that if he stares hard enough, he’ll see Steve sleeping next to him.

But there’s only darkness.

But it had seemed so real…!

He reaches out his right hand and gropes through the darkness. If Steve isn’t there, then maybe…

But his hand smacks into something solid, and when he grabs it, he can feel the fabric of Steve’s shirt.

Steve is lying right next to him…

…which means the darkness and silence are still definitely real.

Still holding onto Steve’s shirt, he tries to sit up—but nothing happens because the left arm which he tried to use is no longer there.

His stomach lurches and grief floods him.

The dream had seemed so real!

He can still see it and he can still hear it—Steve smiling at him, his eyes sparkling, saying ‘Hey, Buck’ and ‘I love you, Buck’.

Bucky’s throat clogs and he’s clenching his jaw so hard that his face is aching. The tears come and within seconds he’s sobbing.

It had seemed so real!

 _Damn_ it!

He’s still regularly dreaming with sight and sound, which Steve tells him is perfectly normal. Usually, it doesn’t bother Bucky very much. His dreams are usually ridiculous things that his brain makes up—showing up at training camp in 1943 and being told he’s going to be taking a spaceship to fight Nazis on the moon; Steve and him living in a never-ending maze and the whole dream consists of them walking around, trying to find the kitchen—and the ridiculous nature of the dreams makes it much easier to shake them off when he wakes to darkness and silence.

The dreams have never been like this.

So _real_. Such a perfect sum of everything that Bucky misses most.

He’s still holding onto Steve’s shirt, so he can feel when Steve starts shifting—probably having woken from Bucky’s hysterical sobbing.

He feels Steve’s hands running up his arm to his chest and his face, his hands frantic and trembling.

“I—I—” He’s crying so hard that he can’t even make his mouth form words.

Steve grips his face hard, probably worried sick.

“I—I’m—I had a dream again. But a real bad one this time.”

Steve releases his face and grabs Bucky’s hand, spelling something.

Bucky’s way too upset right now to keep track of letters. But he knows what Steve’s asking.

“It’s—I could hear you and I could see you, and I had both my arms. It was so real, Steve. So _real_. We were here, in bed and we woke up and you were smiling and you were talking to me.”

To be honest, the fact that he had both arms in his dreams was nice, but not something that causes him a lot of anguish.

And he can feel Steve’s smile whenever he touches his face.

But hearing Steve _talking_!

He hears the echoes of _‘Hey, Buck’_ in his head again.

_‘Hey, Buck.’_

_‘I love you, Buck.’_

He knows he’ll never get to hear Steve say those words to him again.

His chest tightens and he’s crying even harder, overwhelmed with sadness.

Steve’s hands have calmed now that he knows Bucky isn’t physically injured. His hands gently wipe the tears off Bucky’s cheeks and then Bucky feels light kisses all over his face.

It reminds him too much of the Steve from his dream.

The last thing he wants right now is to have Steve right here—and be reminded that he’s probably saying lots of things, none of which Bucky can hear.

 _Ever_ again.

Plus—that nagging, horrible voice in the back of his head reminds him that this is all his fault anyway.

He’d been the idiot who got too impatient and didn’t want to wait for Steve to come up with a solution for the trigger words.

No, no! He had to come up with a  solution on his own and then—of _course_ —it had to be implemented right away. Can’t be taking time to think things through…no, no.

Cause he’s an _idiot_!

And he’s going to pay for being an idiot by drowning in this silence for the rest of his life.

And Steve would probably be the first to point out that this is all Bucky’s fault.

Well—maybe he’d be kinder than that.

But it doesn’t matter.

Right now, having Steve right here is making Bucky feel worse.

Bucky reaches up, finds Steve’s chest and pushes him back. “I—I wanna be alone. Don’t touch me.”

Then he fumbles for the blanket, pulls it up to his ears and rolls over into his wall of pillows.

He can feel Steve not moving, and he knows—he _knows_ —that Steve is talking, saying comforting things, saying soothing things, saying wonderful things…

…saying ‘Buck’ over and over again.

And he can’t hear any of it.

The pain in his chest grows thicker and he sobs into the pillows.

Steve obeys his demand and doesn’t touch him. After a while Bucky can feel the mattress shift. He assumes Steve is getting off the bed.

Good.

Bucky wants to be alone with his misery. He doesn’t deserve anybody’s comfort right now—plus, Steve can’t offer him the comfort he truly wants:

Hearing Steve’s voice, even if it’s just for a second.

*             *             *

Bucky stays in bed, crying and miserable for about an hour. Steve obeys his wish not to touch him, but he does put a box of tissues on top of the blankets so Bucky can wipe his face. Later, Steve brings the water bottle that they bring on their walks and leaves it on top of the blankets too.

When Bucky’s all cried out and he really needs to pee, he digs himself out of his blankets and goes to the bathroom. When he comes back to the bed, he realizes the blanket’s been shaken out, the pillows have been swapped around, and his disgusting pile of used tissues is gone.

Steve’s been cleaning.

Bucky doesn’t have the energy to thank him. He just crawls back into bed and rolls to face the wall again.

Eventually he feels the mattress dip and he can smell ham and mustard.

Steve must have been made him a sandwich.

Now that he’s all cried out, he’s feeling numb.

At least the overwhelming grief has faded, but now he just feels drained.

He _is_ getting hungry. But eating when he’s feeling this drained is always tricky. Because he’s not able to focus properly, he often grabs things incorrectly, spills things and drops things, and he often misaims and the food ends up missing his mouth and getting all over his shirt and the table. In this case, it would be the bedding that would get the worst of it and Bucky’s not going to make a mess that Steve has to clean up.

He rolls over, away from his pillows. “Stevie, can you help me eat my sandwich? I don’t feel good and I’m gonna get mustard all of myself and crumbs all over the bed.”

Within seconds, the mattress is shifting again and Steve’s arms are gently running up Bucky’s arm and pulling him up. Steve gets Bucky comfortable, sitting up against the pillows and getting him to cross his legs to give Steve room to sit in front of him.

Just like they had when Bucky had first come home, Steve helps feed him. He touches Bucky’s lips with the fingers of one hand, alerting him that food is coming, and then presses the sandwich against Bucky’s lips for a bite. All Bucky has to do is chew, swallow and open his mouth when he wants another bite. Every few bites, a napkin gently wipes his mouth.

“Stop for a second. I need water.” He has no idea where the water bottle went. “Can you hand me the bottle, please?”

The bottle is pressed into his hand. He loves this water bottle. It’s got a plastic nub on top that Bucky can pull open with his teeth. He can wrap his lips around it and drink and never have to worry about water spilling anywhere. When he’s finished, he can close it and put it wherever he wants without having to worry about it spilling. He doesn’t like using it when they’re at home—he’s not a baby and he’s perfectly capable of drinking from glasses and mugs—but when they’re outside, or Bucky’s having a bad day, it’s very handy.

Steve has figured this out without Bucky ever having talked to him about it, and Steve automatically gives Bucky the water bottle instead of glasses or mugs when he’s having a bad day.

He finishes drinking, snaps the nub closed and drops the bottle in his lap. Then it’s back to eating.

He makes his way through the sandwich and drinks some more water.

“I wanna cuddle.”

Steve gets them organized, sitting up against the headboard and pulling Bucky against his chest. He pulls the blanket up around Bucky and rubs his back with one hand. His other hand is gently running through Bucky’s hair.

Bucky does feel better like this. He’s surrounded by Steve and he knows he can keep his brain turned off and just drift, and Steve will take care of him and protect him. He doesn’t have to worry about anything.

Bucky’s very appreciative of the fact that Steve isn’t trying to talk to him. Bucky’s not in the mood to decipher and track letters right now.

That’s another one of those things he’s never had to talk to Steve about. Steve just seems to know that Bucky doesn’t have the energy to use his brain very much when he’s having bad days.

They’ve always been very good at taking care of each other when one of them has a bad day. They know what to the other needs them to do and say—or in this case, _not_ say—to make them feel better.

Bucky snuffles into Steve’s shirt and relaxes, feeling Steve’s heart beating in his chest and feeling him slowly breathing in and out.

He knows Steve is desperate to know what he can do to help solve this problem.

Bucky knows this situation is one that Steve can’t help him with, but keeping Steve in the dark isn’t a good thing to do either.

“You—in the dream, you were talking to me. I could see you smiling and that was amazing, but—but I could hear your _voice_. I could—I could hear you say my name and saying you loved me.”

The tears come again and he takes a shaky breath and swallows hard, hoping he can finish talking before he dissolves into sobs again.

“I can’t—I can’t remember the last thing you said to me. I know it was the morning when I went to surrender to Natasha. I lied to you about where I was going and I was so damn worried about you doing something to mess up my plans and getting yourself hurt or killed, so I wasn’t paying attention to what we were saying.”

Of course, had he known back then that it would the last time he would ever hear Steve’s voice, he would have paid much more attention.

“But—that’s—that’s not even—” He sniffs, trying to choke back his tears. “That’s not even the worst part. I—I remember what you sound like, but I know eventually I’ll forget. And I won’t have anything to remind me. I’ll just forget and it’ll be gone forever.”

And that’s as far as he gets because the pain squeezes his chest tight and he’s sobbing again.

He feels Steve’s arms tighten around him and hard kisses are pressed to his temple. Steve’s fingers are trying to brush the flood of tears that are streaming down his cheeks, but they just keep coming. Eventually, Bucky feels tissues on his cheeks instead, and Steve gently wipes his cheeks, nose and eyes as he cries, and Steve’s other arm rubs his back.

When he’s all cried out for the second time this morning, he lies there, his breaths shuddering and catching in his throat. Steve finishes wiping his face.

“Can—can we stay here for a while? I don’t wanna do anything for a while.”

Steve taps on his back and goes back to rubbing his back in long, slow strokes. Bucky can feel kisses on his face from time to time.

Bucky notices that he’s only been feeling vibrations in Steve’s chest from his heart, not the kind of vibrations when Steve talks.

He realizes Steve hasn’t been speaking for a while, probably not wanting to upset Bucky further.

Bucky is unbelievably grateful for that small kindness. On most other days, he loves feeling Steve talking to him and he knows Steve loves talking to him.

But today it’s like rubbing salt in a wound

Time goes by and eventually Bucky starts feeling a bit better. Nothing’s changed about the situation, but his body is worn out from crying and being sad.

Bucky pats Steve on the chest. “Thank you for being awesome, Stevie.”

Bucky feels a kiss on his temple. Then Bucky holds up his hand. “If you wanna talk to me, then I’m all ears. Just go slow, okay? Leave a big pause between words.”

Steve sits up and eagerly takes Bucky’s hand, but he obeys Bucky’s wish and spells slowly.

He asks Bucky what exactly the Steve in his dream had said that he misses hearing the most.

“When you said my name. And when you said you loved me.”

Steve wants to know exactly— _exactly_ —how he’d said it.

Bucky frowns. “What does it matter? I—“

Steve jostles his hand impatiently. He wants an answer.

Bucky doesn’t see the point, but Steve’s been so fantastic this morning that he deserves an answer. “Okay. You said ‘Hey, Buck’. And you said ‘I love you, Buck’. Just like that.”

Steve tells him he has an idea.

“What kind of an idea? Steve, don’t start some stupid thing about giving me my hearing back—I ain’t taking that risk.”

Steve’s jostling his hand again, wanting him to shut up and listen.

Steve asks him if he still remembers what Steve sounds like when he says those two things.

“Of course I do. But eventually—”

Steve’s spelling again. He tells Bucky that he has an idea of how to keep those memories alive and fresh in Bucky’s mind. As long as he recalls those memories often, he won’t forget them.

“Alright. How? You wanna start each morning by reminding me to dredge up those memories? Like our stretching exercises?”

Rub, rub, rub.

Steve tells him he’ll show him his idea.

Then he takes Bucky’s hand and places his fingers against Steve’s lips. Bucky feels Steve’s lips moving beneath his fingers. Steve’s lips move while he says something. Then Steve stops talking.

Bucky can feel that Steve’s really tense. Like he’s waiting for Bucky to catch on.

Unfortunately, he’s not catching on.

“I don’t get it, Rogers. I touch your face all the time. I told you, it ain’t the whole ‘not seeing things’ that’s the worst, it’s not hearing—”

Steve presses Bucky’s fingers more firmly against his lips. Bucky’s fingers are completely covering Steve’s mouth now, so he can feel every little movement that Steve’s lips are making.

Steve is talking, talking, talking, but he’s not releasing Bucky’s hand.

Eventually, Bucky realizes that Steve’s lips are moving in a pattern. He seems to be saying two separate things—two words?—with a pause in between, then he does a longer pause before starting the whole thing again.

He’s doing it over and over and over again.

Bucky focuses on separating the two words (?) and feeling the individual movements for each.

First Steve’s lips part until his mouth is halfway open.

Then there’s a short pause during which Steve’s lips are closed.

Then his lips squish together, then they burst open and air pushes against Bucky’s fingers.

Then his lips close again and there’s a long pause.

Bucky knows Steve would explain what he’s doing if he asked, but he thinks he can figure it out. He starts mouthing letters to himself, trying to see which one is similar to that bursting motion.

‘A’ is unremarkable. Just a slight opening of his mouth.

But as soon as he forms the letter ‘B’, he realizes that’s it! It has that same lips squishing and bursting motion that Steve has been doing.

So Steve said one word, then he said another, starting with a B.

It hits him a second later.

_‘Hey, Buck’._

That’s what Steve must be saying.

“Are you saying ‘hey’ and ‘Buck’?”

Steve happily taps on Bucky’s hand, which is still pressed to Steve’s mouth.

Then Steve lips are doing a different pattern. This one seems to have four words.

The first is again not distinct enough to figure out. Just a slight opening of Steve’s lips.

But the second word involves the tip of Steve’s tongue darting out and just barely touching Bucky’s fingers.

The third word has his lips pursed outwards. _Way_ out. Steve’s lips are pushing Bucky’s fingers back.

The fourth word has the same motions as the ‘B’ in the first pattern: lips squished together and then bursting open. He knows that’s ‘Buck’.

Bucky already knows what Steve is saying, but he tries it himself, touching his own lips and mouthing what he thinks the words are to check if the motions feel the same as Steve’s had.

He moves his hand back and forth between his own lips and Steve’s, and Steve dutifully repeats the phrase whenever Bucky presses his fingers against Steve’s lips.

Slight opening of lips…I.

Tongue darting out…Love.

Lips pursing outward…You.

Lips squished and then bursting open…Buck.

“It’s ‘I love you, Buck’, right?”

Tap, tap, tap.

“Do it again. Say ‘Hey, Buck’, and then say ‘I love you’. I wanna line it up with the memory so do it slow but keep doing it.”

Steve slows down and does the first pattern, followed by the second one.

He repeats it over and over and over again.

Bucky realizes Steve has been sitting here, saying the same two phrases over and over again for more than five minutes but he doesn’t show any sign of wanting to stop before Bucky’s satisfied.

Jesus, Bucky loves this punk so much.

He pulls up the memory of the dream. Steve, smiling at him and saying ‘Hey, Buck’ and ‘I love you, Buck’.

Only this time, he matches the Steve in his memory with Steve’s lips moving under his fingers.

To his amazement, he almost feels like he can hear Steve saying the words. Not the Steve in his dream, but the real Steve, the Steve who’s here with him.

The echo of the memory in his head lines up perfectly with the movement of Steve’s lips.

It really feels like [he’s hearing Steve talking](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11997192).

A smile tugs on his lips and he feels a happy glow in his chest.

He lets Steve repeat the phrases a few more times until he pulls his fingers away from his lips and kisses him.

“Thank you, Stevie. That’s amazing,” he whispers against Steve’s lips. “It’s a great idea, thank you. You know how much that means to me.”

Steve’s arms wrap around him and he kisses him back. Bucky can feel that they’re both smiling.

*             *             *

It becomes part of their routine. They don’t do it all the time, but whenever Bucky’s having a bad day, or he’s just really missing hearing Steve’s voice, he’ll find Steve and put his fingers against Steve’s lips.

Bucky will say: “Hey, Stevie.”

And Steve will say ‘Hey, Buck’, and Bucky can hear him without anybody spelling on any hands.

Then Bucky will say: “I love you.”

And Steve will say ‘I love you, Buck’ and again, Bucky can match the memory of hearing Steve say those words to Steve’s lips forming them.

It’s not the same as hearing Steve’s voice, but it’s as close as he’s going to get. It always makes him smile, and on his bad days, that’s something he desperately needs.

The best part is that Bucky is recalling the memories of Steve saying those words to him whenever they do it, so he gets more reassured each day that he won’t ever forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you missed the link in the story, please go look at the [amazing art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11997192) that the incredible [Yoklmn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoklmn/pseuds/yoklmn) created for this chapter! It shows Bucky 'listening' to Steve tell him he loves him. It's amazing!


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first scene is dedicated to [BuffyScribbles](http://archiveofourown.org/users/BuffyScribbles/pseuds/Buffy), who wanted to see Bucky's break-down in the last chapter from Steve's point of view. I hope you like it!
> 
> In addition, in this chapter the boys visit Brooklyn Bridge Park, and Bucky has a huge revelation. [LABB](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LABB/pseuds/LABB) has drawn an [amazing sketch](http://i.imgur.com/KfigIzv.jpg) showing Bucky at the park. Go check it out!
> 
> Enjoy!

Steve nearly had a heart attack when he woke up to the sound of Bucky hysterically sobbing. His first thought had been that Bucky was physically hurt and he’d grabbed Bucky a bit roughly while he’d frantically attempted to find out what was wrong.

When Bucky had choked out what his dream had been about, Steve had felt like somebody had dumped a bucket of cold water over his head.

He’s been desperately hoping that Bucky will stop dreaming in sound and color sometime soon. But the brain is a funny and unpredictable thing, and according to his research, it’s likely that Bucky will keep dreaming in sound and color for years to come—maybe even the rest of his life.

Usually Bucky doesn’t even bother mentioning his dreams. Steve only realizes that Bucky’s had one if he wakes up grumpy and spends long minutes blinking and looking around before getting out of bed.

The cruelty of the situation makes Steve want to punch through a wall.

But that wouldn’t be any help to Bucky, so Steve had tried to calm him the only way he knew how—touching him and kissing him and talking to him.

But on this morning, Bucky didn’t want any of that.

“I—I wanna be alone. Don’t touch me.”

Steve had immediately yanked his hands off Bucky when he’d said that, and within seconds Bucky had turned to face the pillow wall. He’d pulled the blanket up around him and started sobbing again.

The sound of Bucky’s anguished crying had made Steve’s heart hurt and his eyes had brimmed with tears within minutes. His hands had twitched with the need to touch Bucky and offer comfort—but he’d kept his hands to himself, as Bucky had demanded.

He’d stayed there on the bed for several minutes, staring at Bucky.

“Buck, tell me how to help you. Please. I wanna help you. I can’t stand to see you like this,” Steve had mumbled through a throat clogged with tears.

The tears had started rolling down his cheeks and he’d brushed them away. He’d twisted his hands in his lap, feeling completely lost and helpless.

When it became clear that Bucky wasn’t going to move for a while, Steve had gotten out of bed. He hadn’t been doing anybody any good just sitting there, crying.

He’d realized that while Bucky hadn’t wanted Steve to comfort him, he still needed some basic things.

Steve grabbed the box of tissues from the bedside table and put it on Bucky’s blanket. He’d gone out to the front hall and taken the water bottle out of his backpack, filled it up and put that on Bucky’s blanket too.

Then he’d sat down against the bedroom wall, ready to wait until Bucky gave him some indication of what he needed or wanted.

As he sat there, listening to Bucky crying, his own tears had come flooding back.

“Oh, Buck. I’m so sorry, Buck. I’m so, so sorry.” He’d pulled his knees up to his chest and shoves his hands over his face and into his hair. “If I could share my eyes and ears with you, I’d do it. You could do half the day and I’d do the other half. We’d switch back and forth.”

It had been a stupid thought, but nobody could hear Steve saying stupid things, so it didn’t matter. He knew Bucky would never agree to something which would take anything away from Steve. And whenever Steve brought up the possibility of undoing the hearing or sight loss, Bucky always shut that down, saying it wasn’t worth the risk.

Steve didn’t understand what kind of risk Bucky was talking about—but he figured that Bucky was smart enough to know what he was talking about.

None of that helped with their current situation. Bucky had cried on the bed, and Steve had sat on the floor.

“You deserve so much more than this. I’m so sorry, Buck.” Steve mumbled. He leaned forward and squished his face against his hands, which were braced against his knees. His lips were squished against the back of his hands. “I know it ain’t the same thing, but when you died—or I thought you died—the thought of never getting to see you or hear you again…it was devastating. I can’t imagine having to face that for the rest of my life. You’re so much stronger than me, Buck, but I know that this is so, so, so hard for you. I just—I just don’t know—”

That’s when Steve had realized he’d been drooling on his hands while mumbling. He’d raised his head and wiped the drool from his hands…

…and that’s when he realized he’d been feeling his lips moving against his hands as he’d been talking.

It reminded him of what he’d read about Helen Keller. She’d learned to speak by touching people’s lips and throat while they spoke and learning the vibrations and motions which each letter required.

Steve had slowly straightened up from his slouch, his mind racing.

Bucky still remembered what Steve sounded like. If Bucky could feel Steve’s lips moving as he said those things he remembered…maybe Bucky could put the two things together?

It wouldn’t be the same as hearing Steve speaking of course, but it would be much closer than Steve spelling on Bucky’s palm.

He knew he’d have to ask Bucky exactly what he’d said in his dream and then he’d try to get Bucky to understand which words are produced with which mouth movements.

He’d been shaking out of his thoughts by a sniffling, pale Bucky crawling out of bed and stumbling his way to the bathroom.

Steve had jumped up and quickly cleaned up the bed while Bucky was out of it. When Bucky had come back, Steve had stood there, staring at him while Bucky had crawled back into bed.

But Steve had realized that standing here wouldn’t help Bucky at all.

So he’d gone to the kitchen and made them sandwiches for a late breakfast. He’d eaten his own in four bites, and then he’d brought a plate and a napkin into the bedroom.

Bucky hadn’t registered the smell of the sandwich, so Steve had carefully waved the plate back and forth above Bucky’s head until he’d smelled the sandwich and sat up.

Steve had helped him eat and drink, and he’d been thrilled when Bucky asked to cuddle.

As they’d lain there, Steve had opened his mouth half a dozen times to start telling Bucky his idea, but he knew Bucky wouldn’t appreciate Steve using his voice to speak right now, and he knew he’d never get through an explanation if Bucky was upset.

All Bucky would have to do to ignore Steve is keep his hand away from him. It’s not difficult for Bucky to shut him out very quickly and very thoroughly.

So Steve had waited while Bucky had gotten the strength to finally explain what had happened in his dream.

Steve had opened his mouth to tell Bucky that he already knew, and to offer words of comfort and to bring up his idea—but he’d pressed his mouth shut every time.

Finally, Bucky had held out his hand and said: “If you wanna talk to me, then I’m all ears. Just go slow, okay? Leave a big pause between words.”

That was the opening Steve had been waiting for.

He’d known that he was taking a gamble. There was always the chance that Bucky wouldn’t be able to connect his lip movements to the words and he’d just get frustrated and more upset—but Steve felt it was a gamble worth taking.

He’d pressed Bucky’s fingers to his lips and started saying those two phrases over and over and over again.

His chest had burned with fierce pride when Bucky had figured out what Steve was saying without him having to explain.

His Buck had always been a very smart fella.

Steve hadn’t cared when he’d had to sit there and repeat ‘Hey, Buck’ and ‘I love you, Buck’ about a hundred times each. His throat had started hurting after a while, so he stopped actually saying the words and only made the mouth  movements, letting out a small burst of air for the ‘Buck’ so Bucky could feel it.

Bucky hadn’t noticed the change.

But it was all worth it when Bucky had taken his fingers off Steve’s lips and kissed him.

“Thank you, Stevie. That’s amazing. It’s a great idea, thank you. You know how much that means to me.”

Steve had wrapped his arms around him and kissed him back, smiling at the beautiful smile on Bucky’s face.

Steve knew Bucky would still be a bit sensitive about Steve using his voice for the rest of the day, so he’d turned his head away from Bucky so he wouldn’t feel Steve’s lips move and he’d mouthed:

“I’m so damn proud of you, Buck. So damn proud.”

When he’d pulled away from the hug, he’d carefully spelled that on Bucky’s hand, and Bucky had given him that bashful little half smile he did when he’s happy that he made Steve proud.

*             *             *

They don’t go out for a walk that day, but by the next morning, Bucky insists he’s feeling better and he wants to go practice. Steve waits until noon so he can judge if Bucky really is feeling better or he’s just saying he is—going out while he’s unfocused never leads to a good walk—but once he sees that Bucky really is fine, they head out.

Each day, they travel farther and farther away from home before coming back. Now that they’re both comfortable with general walking, they increase the difficulty level each day.

Bucky always has to start out slowly and get his sweeping rhythm going before he can slowly walk faster. As he gets more accustomed to sweeping properly, he finds he’s getting to know the different things which he encounters on their block. He’ll tell Steve what he thinks a certain obstacle is—or even if he knows that a certain obstacle is coming up—and Steve will verify if he’s right or not.

Bucky knows where the tree root pokes through the pavement. He knows where the railing with the closely spaced spikes is, and where the railing with the wider spaced spikes is—which is the one he doesn’t like because he tends to get his cane tip stuck in it.

They go up and down the stairs at different buildings. Steve always writes a capital ‘S’ for stairs, followed by a ‘D’ if the stairs go downwards, or a ‘U’ if the stairs go upwards, followed by the number of stairs. As he gets more familiar with the areas they walk in, Steve can do the whole sequence without looking at Bucky’s hand or even thinking about it. Their own stairs are:

S.

D.

Number sign.

Double tap on the tip of the middle finger.

Number sign.

Even when Bucky gets accustomed to certain things and no longer needs Steve to signal for them, Steve keeps doing it for practice. Bucky can ignore the signals if he doesn’t need them.

At the beginning Steve had deliberately timed their walks so they aren’t outside when the big masses are going or coming home from work, but now they go out during rush hour at least once a week for practice. Some of the streets are so busy that Steve tells Bucky to put his cane away and he walks behind Steve, holding onto Steve’s arm which he holds out behind him.

They go in and out of stores just to practice moving through different doors.

They practice crossing intersections in large square paths, crossing one street after another.

When Bucky encounters an object, Steve sometimes stops him and spells the name of it—‘R-A-I-L-I-N-G’, ‘T-R-E-E’, ‘M-A-I-L-B-O-X’ and encourages him to explore the object with the cane. Bucky will move the cane’s ball tip around it, trying to get as much information as possible. He’ll put the information together—the width, the depth, the smoothness, the hardness—and connect it with the name of the item. As the weeks go on, whenever Steve tells him what an object is, Bucky will tell Steve what kind of textures he’s expecting to find when he explores it. It’s not just a good cane exercise, but if Bucky knows what the object is, he knows how he needs to move to avoid it and Steve can let him navigate around it on his own.

Along with learning how to use the cane properly when outside, Bucky has to add cleaning the cane to his list of tasks. Unlike their relatively clean apartment, the rolling ball tip is being dragged through all sorts of gross muck and dirt when they’re outside, and Bucky doesn’t want to bring that filth into their apartment. Plus, keeping the cane parts clean keeps the whole thing functioning properly.

When they come home, Bucky always folds up the cane and brings it to the bathroom so he can wash it. He washes the ball very thoroughly and wipes the rest of the cane, checking to make sure no debris has gotten stuck in it.

*             *             *

After they’ve spent a few weeks walking around the nearby streets, Bucky decides that walking is great, but he wants to actually end up somewhere interesting, not just turn around and go back home.

He doesn’t care where they go, as long as it’s somewhere fun.

“I don’t wanna just walk around to walk around. I wanna go somewhere, Rogers. There’s gotta be cool things around here.”

Steve doesn’t tell him where they’re going, just keeps telling Bucky to:

W-A-I-T.

They head out, go down the stairs and walk down their block. Bucky’s thrilled when he realizes he feels comfortable walking down this part of the sidewalk. They’ve done it so many times now that Bucky knows what his feet will tell him, what the cane will tell him and what Steve will tell him.

They cross a bunch of streets and he finds vibrating buttons at two of the intersections, which makes Bucky a very happy man. They’ve realized that while the vibrating buttons are at most intersections, they aren’t at all of them, which is disappointing. Bucky likes having that extra amount of information he can get from the vibrating buttons. He doesn’t have to purely rely on Steve to tell him when it’s time to go.

Eventually Bucky realizes he can smell water.

Not the kind you drink—that stuff has no smell—but it’s a water smell that he recognizes.

It gets stronger the farther they walk.

He doesn’t say anything to Steve—he’s probably just imagining remembering the smell anyway. He does notice that the air gets cooler and the breeze picks up. They must be somewhere more open—less buildings.

Then the ground changes.

One second they were on rough pavement—now they’re on something that’s shifting and crumbling under his feet. The ball bounces harder than it did on the pavement.

Steve stops him and tells him they’re in a park.

He has no idea what kind of ground they’re walking on—it doesn’t feel soft, so it’s not dirt.

Bucky insists on crouching down and touching the stuff.

Feels like—gravel?

He asks Steve.

Tap.

It’s disconcerting to realize that there are no objects for his cane to smack into. In fact, if he moves too far to the side in order to try to feel something, the cane gets stuck behind a fence that seems to run along the pathway, or gets tangled up in the vegetation that’s there.

He gets frustrated quickly. “How am I supposed to know where I’m going if I can’t follow a line with the cane?”

Steve pulls them to a stop. He kisses Bucky’s knuckles then tells him to just relax and enjoy the walk. Steve can lead.

Bucky makes a face. “I’m supposed to be practicing.”

Steve jostles their joined hands and tells him again to just enjoy the walk.

Bucky smiles. “Alright, fine. You lead, I’ll enjoy.”

So he keeps sweeping with his cane but he doesn’t let it bother him that he’s not hitting anything. Steve’s keeping a good grip on his arm and indicates when he needs to turn. There don’t appear to be many people around and unlike in the city center, there are no obstacles anywhere. Bucky gradually relaxes.

He’s learned something: sometimes having the cane not hit anything can be just as much of a guidance as having it hit something. It’s a bit unnerving to be walking around in complete darkness with absolutely no reference point, but Steve’s tight grip on his arm keeps him focused and keeps the fear at bay.

Within a few minutes, he stops worrying about his surroundings and starts enjoying them.

He can tell by the smell of vegetation that they’re surrounded by plant life. Steve stops them multiple times so Bucky can touch the different trees and bushes. It’s a nicer smell than the city center, that’s for sure. The city doesn’t stink nearly as bad as it did in the 30s, but it still doesn’t smell like nice plants.

It’s fascinating feeling the different leaves—so many shapes and sizes and textures!

He pokes Steve in the side. “These would be great for an art project, Steve! Do you have a bag on you?”

No, Steve doesn’t, but he promises they’ll bring bags next time.

There are thick leafs, and thin leaves, leaves with pointy ends and leaves that are round. Leaves that are soft and fuzzy, and leaves that are smooth and tough like plastic.

Bucky’s really enjoying himself—

—until a sharp pain erupts on his face, very close to his right eye.

He lets out a startled shout and jerks away from the source of the pain, stomping on Steve’s foot.

Steve’s arms immediately wrap around him to keep him from tripping over his own feet.

Bucky lets go the cane and touches the area that’s hurting. The skin feels swollen and tender but Bucky can’t tell how bad the damage is.

“What—what the hell was that? Something poked me.”

Steve’s trembling and his hands are running over Bucky’s face, gently brushing aside Bucky’s own exploring fingers and probing the area that’s hurting.

“Is it bleeding?”

Steve takes a hand off Bucky’s face and spells out ‘a little’.

“Damn.”

Steve tells him he’s going to clean the cut. A few moments late, Bucky can smell disinfectant and a cool, moist cloth is gently wiping across the cut. It stings a little, but Bucky carefully stays still until Steve’s done.

The disinfectant wipes always travel with them now, but mostly they’re for Bucky to clean his hand if he touches something gross, or to wipe off the cane tip if it rolls through something gross. This is the first time they’ve had to use them for a medical situation.

The cloth leaves his face and Steve tells him it stopped bleeding already.

That’s good, but it doesn’t explain what happened.

“What did I hit?”

Steve tells him it was a branch.

Oh. Now that he thinks about it, it’s pretty stupid for him to be sticking his face into a bunch of plants and bushes when he can’t see sharp ended branches.

He could accidentally impale himself on a sharp branch.

Shit. You stupid goof, Barnes.

Steve’s hands are still gently running over his face. “I’m okay, Stevie. It was just a shock. It’s my own fault—I shouldn’t be sticking my face into plants like that.”

He momentarily thinks he’s dropped his cane, but he can feel it dangling from the strap on his wrist. Thank God for that strap. This isn’t the first time it saved him from losing his cane, and Bucky’s sure it won’t be the last.

Steve’s hands pause, then they leave Bucky’s face. Moments later, Steve is pressing something into his hand.

They feel like glasses. Steve doesn’t need glasses—anymore—so these must be sunglasses?

“Are these your sunglasses?”

Tap.

“Punk, I don’t need your sunglasses.” He chuckles. “You need them more than I do. The sun ain’t exactly bothering me.”

But Steve is stubbornly closing Bucky’s fingers over the glasses.

Well—it _would_ be a good safety measure.

So Bucky slides the sunglasses on. Then Steve’s pressing something else into his hands. It feels like—

Steve’s baseball cap?

“Rogers, I ain’t taking all your stuff. You’re gonna be squinting the rest of the day.”

But Steve isn’t changing his mind—he keeps refusing to take the hat back, no matter how hard Bucky pushes it against his chest.

Stubborn punk.

So Bucky pulls the hat on.

With the extra layers of protections on his face, Bucky feels safe enough to go back to exploring the different bushes and plants around them. He keeps his head tilted down so he can feel when branches brush against the brim of the cap. That’s his cue to step a little further back.

“Thanks, Stevie. This was a good idea. Can you order me my own sunglasses and hat when we get home?”

Steve tells him they’ll do it as soon as they’re home.

“I want a Mets hat.”

Tap.

They keep walking and the tall trees disappear from one side. They’re replaced by soft, moist grass and that water smell from before gets stronger.

Steve tells him they’re close to a bench and helps him sit down.

Bucky feels a water bottle being pressed into his hand. He pulls open the nub with his teeth and takes a long drink.

The breeze is strong and the water scent envelopes him. This close, he can smell that it’s salty. Despite the fall chill in the breeze, the sun is shining and it’s a beautiful day.

He bumps into Steve’s shoulder and offers him the water bottle. “This is so great, Rogers! I’m glad you found this place. It’s not that far from home. We should come here often.”

Tap, tap, tap.

The water bottle is taken from Bucky’s hand. Hopefully Steve grabbed it, not some random passerby.

Although that would be pretty funny.

“What’s that water smell? Is it the ocean or something?”

Rub, rub. Steve tells him it’s the East River.

Huh. “Isn’t that a coincidence, huh? We had an East River in Brooklyn too.”

His hand is still in Steve’s grasp, that’s why he can feel it when Steve tenses.

“What? I know I ain’t wrong. I spent a lot of time by that river, so did you. I remember its name.”

He feels Steve shifting, then Steve’s crouching before him, one hand holding Bucky’s, the other on Bucky’s knee, squeezing gently.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Rogers? Are you okay?”

His hand is being smoothed out. Steve’s fingers are shaking. In fact, he’s shaking so much that his fingers are skittering all over Bucky’s palm.

“Steve, you’re worrying me. Please calm down. I can’t understand what you’re saying when you’re shaking like that.”

Steve closes his fingers over Bucky’s and tightly squeezes his hands for a few minutes. Bucky waits, wishing he had his other hand still so he could comfort Steve with it.

Finally, Steve untangles their fingers. He carefully and slowly starts spelling, one letter at a time.

B-R-O-O-K-L-Y-N.

Okay. “I know, sweetheart. That’s what I just said. We had an East River in Brooklyn too. Just like this river. Same name. That’s a pretty neat coincidence, huh?”

Rub, rub, rub.

B-R-O-O-K-L-Y-N.

His press hard into Bucky's palm with each letter and Bucky can feel him shaking again.

Then Steve’s fingers leave his hand and Steve’s pressing his head to Bucky’s knees. Bucky pulls his hand from his loose grasp and rubs the back of Steve’s neck. Steve’s entire body is shaking.

Bucky’s starting to get worried. He has no idea what’s causing Steve to freak out like this. “It’s alright. I’m right here, Stevie. Take your time. I ain’t going anywhere.”

A few minutes later Steve pushes himself up and sits on the bench next to Bucky. He’s still tense but the shaking has stopped.

“I’d really like to know what’s bothering you. When you’re ready, you gotta tell me so we can fix it.”

Bucky waits him out.

Finally Steve picks up Bucky’s hand and tells:

W-E.

L-I-V-E.

I-N.

B-R-O-O-K-L-Y-N.                                                   

N-O-W.

Once Bucky’s put the words together, he feels such an intense emotion come over him that he can’t breathe.

That—

Steve can’t mean—

Steve’s moving on to something else, clearly thinking that Bucky isn’t getting it.

Bucky finally manages to take a breath, just in time to try to follow what Steve’s spelling.

T-H-I-S.

I-S.

B-R-O-O-K-L-Y-N.

B-R-I-D-G-E.

P-A-R-K.

It can’t possibly mean—

He takes a shaky breath. “Stevie, are you trying to tell me we’re in Brooklyn? As in, right now, we’re in Brooklyn and we live in Brooklyn and sleep in Brooklyn and eat in Brooklyn? Not just any part of Brooklyn, but you’re telling me we’re sitting by the East River and we’re eight blocks from home which means we’re in the Heights which means we’re home. I mean, _really_ home?”

Tap, tap, tap.

Bucky nearly bursts into tears he’s suddenly so overwhelmed. “You brought us home? You really brought us home? We’re _home_?”

Tap, tap, tap.

He blinks hard, but the tears still come.

He feels such an intense sense of relief and happiness seep through him that he feels like he’s going to melt into the bench.

Everything suddenly feels different. Everything suddenly _is_ different.

He’s home.

Seventy years later—a million lifetimes later—he’s made it back home. Steve brought him home.

“Steve—”

He tightens his grip on Steve’s hand and pulls him close. He buries his face in Steve’s shoulder and sobs, feeling Steve wrap his arms around him.

He’s home.

He’s home, he’s home, he’s _home_.

Steve brought him home. Bucky remembers a dozen promises whispered in the dead of night between two boys sleeping in a drafty tent in the middle of a muddy field somewhere in Europe—promises to each other that they’ll get the other home, no matter what.

And Steve kept his promise.

Once Bucky’s calm, he pulls back enough that Steve can dig through the backpack for something, then he’s wiping Bucky’s face with a tissue.

“Thanks,” he says, taking the tissue and blowing his nose.

He leans into Steve’s chest.

“So if we’re in the park and we’re facing the river, the bridge is somewhere to our right, right?” He points to his right.

Tap.

“Can you see it? What am I saying? Of course you can see it! We’re practically under it, ain’t we?”

Tap.

Steve tells him it’s beautiful.

Bucky smiles. “Yeah. I remember.”

Steve seems to have calmed down too.

“Listen, were you stressing because you felt bad that I didn’t know?”

A pause.

Then a tap.

Bucky sits up, feels for Steve’s face and kisses him. “Don’t. It’s my fault. I’ve been so busy that I didn’t care where we were as long we were safe. It never occurred to me to ask you where we were. And I’ve been keeping you busy. You forgot to tell me and I forgot to ask. We both messed up but now we’re on the same page. It’s okay.”

He’s brushing his hand over Steve’s face so he can feel Steve’s lips move.

“Thank you for bringing me home, punk. It’s nice that you didn’t break your promise,” he says, then leans in for another kiss.

*             *             *

As they walk home, everything feels different.

Just knowing that he’s back home is enough to make him feel more confident. Even though very little of the city is the same as it was seventy years ago, it’s the thought that helps.

He’s in the Heights.

He’s walking the same streets which he’s walked his entire life.

This is his home, his town, his place.

His Brooklyn.

And he’s going to learn to be just as comfortable in 21st century Brooklyn Heights as he’d been in 20th century Brooklyn Heights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you check out the [adorable sketch](http://i.imgur.com/KfigIzv.jpg) which LABB drew? It shows Bucky exploring plants in the park.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to [Lovecybelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovecybelle/pseuds/lovecybelle) and [Annabellee86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annabellee86/pseuds/Annabellee86) who really enjoyed the glimpse into Bucky and Steve's childhoods in a previous chapter. In this chapter, we'll meet more members of the Barnes' family.

They spend the next day at home. They watch a baseball game, Steve spends time on his computer and Bucky works on a fruit bowl sketch that he’s coloring with his scented markers. To make it fun, he deliberately uses the wrong color on each fruit, giving each fruit the wrong scent. Steve finds the picture hilarious when Bucky shows it to him.

Steve does the cooking, Bucky does the dishes and they make their way down the basement together to do the laundry.

The evening is spent playing checkers using a [board that has every alternating square raised up](https://www.maxiaids.com/deluxe-checker-set). The playing discs have little pegs underneath which can fit into small holes drilled into each square. Bucky’s discs are the scratched up ones and Steve’s are smooth. It’s fun, but it’s a tough mental game to play. Steve plays with a blindfold on, so he has to work just as hard as Bucky to keep a mental picture of the board in his head. With such a large playing board and so many discs, it’s hard to do well.

Steve had told Bucky about playing with the blindfold on. He doesn’t do it for all the games they play, only the ones where Bucky has to work very hard to keep a mental image of the playing surface. Steve doesn’t like playing with the advantage of his eyesight, especially because it makes his turn go by so much faster than Bucky’s and he doesn’t want Bucky feeling pressured.

Bucky tells him he doesn’t want Steve deliberately making his own life harder. “You’ve got two good eyes now Rogers. You should use them. I know it takes me a lot longer to do my turn but I’ve accepted it.”

But there’s a hint of annoyance in Bucky’s words, and Steve knows it bothers him that he’s so much slower than Steve when they’re playing certain games.

So Steve just rubs Bucky’s hand and tells him he gets to play however the hell he wants to play.

When Bucky opens his mouth to keep protesting, Steve spells out:

E-O-T-L-I.

Pause.

Bucky frowns. “What’s the I?”

End. Of. The. Line. Idiot.

That makes them both laugh and by the time they’ve settled down, they’ve both completely forgotten what the board looks like, so they have to spend several minutes gently running this fingers over the board and their pieces again.

When their brains get tired, Bucky grabs his knitting supplies and Steve grabs his sketching supplies and they sit out on the balcony.

The days are definitely getting colder. They’re both in warm sweaters which they had knit and Steve brings out a blanket which Bucky had finished last week. Steve drapes it over their laps and they get comfortable.

It takes Bucky a few minutes to get the mini knitting loom set up. He’s starting a new pair of socks for Steve. He holds up the yarn he’d brought outside.

“Is this the color you wanted? Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Steve taps his hand.

Satisfied, Bucky attaches the yarn to the loom. Starting something new is always tough—and he can feel that Steve is motionless, probably watching Bucky’s progress and ready to help if he needs it—but Bucky manages.

They sit quietly side by side, and Bucky’s enjoying the fall breeze and the scent of somebody cooking nearby. Bucky gently rocks the swing back and forth with one foot.

When he’s gotten a good start on the first sock, he pauses.

“Hey, Steve?”

Tap, tap.

“Once you’re done your sketch, do you wanna tell me about Brooklyn?”

The swing jerks—Steve must have shifted suddenly—and Bucky’s hand is being frantically tapped.

Bucky smiles. “You ain’t enthusiastic about that at all, ain’t ya?” He chuckles. “You sure you don’t wanna finish sketching first?”

Rub, rub, rub.

“Okay, are you warm enough out here or do you wanna go inside?”

Steve tells him he’s fine. Bucky feels the loom being taken off his lap and the swing is shifting again and Steve flattens Bucky’s hand on top of the blanket.

Steve’s ready.

“Well? What are you waiting for? I ain’t just gonna ask you yes or no questions. Tell me about our Brooklyn.”

Steve tells him he doesn’t know where to start.

“Okay. Let me see—” he really wants to ask about his parents and sisters and some of their old friends, but he figures that’s not going to be a very cheerful conversation, so he wants to save that until the end.

“Tell me which of the old places are still there. The bookstore, our old apartments, the school, all of that.”

Now that he has a direction, Steve is off, talking a mile a minute. Unfortunately, most of what he says isn’t too nice to hear.

All of the old tenement buildings which they’d both lived in since birth until they left for Europe had been all been demolished to make way for the expansion of the subway system. Steve puts a nice spin on it, telling him you can cross all five boroughs using only the train system and you don’t have to walk very much or pay for a hackie.

All of the streetcar lines in Brooklyn had been taken out of service and demolished, the last being in 1956. There was a lot more traffic on the streets, and the subway system had expanded so much that the streetcar lines weren’t considered efficient any more.

The dock yard where Bucky had worked for years had been closed in 1966 when the government wanted to save money.

The Hartley’s bookstore had closed in 1947. Mr. Hartley had been killed in the war and Steve assumes Mrs. Hartley didn’t have the heart nor the time to keep running things on her own. That entire block is now full of restaurants and clothing stores.

Steve seems happy to be sharing the information he’s learned and Bucky is happy that Steve’s happy, but…

He makes a face. None of that is very good news.

But come on, Barnes, that’s to be expected in a busy city like New York. In a place where everything is always moving, only a fool would think that things wouldn’t have changed a lot over 70 years.

And Bucky isn’t a fool—but he can’t help that little glimmer of hope in his gut.

“Is there anything left except the river, the train and the bridge?”

Steve doesn’t answer.

“Well, Coney Island’s still there, ain’t it? I can’t image that they’d close all that up.”

Tap, tap, tap. Steve apologizes. He’s looked up Coney Island on the computer but hasn’t gone there since waking up. He completely forgot about it until Bucky mentioned it.

A sense of relief settles over Bucky. “That’s great!” He’s about to ask Steve if it’s changed a lot—then he remembers that he doesn’t want to ask too many yes or no questions. He rephrases the question in his head. “Tell me what it’s like today.”

Steve tells him that the Cyclone is still there, as are many of the rides they used to go on. Plus, Nathan’s hot dog stand is still there.

“Seriously?”

Tap, tap.

Steve tells him they’re a huge company today with 1400 stores all over the USA.

“Hot damn! Ida and Nate did well for themselves, didn’t they?”

Steve asks him if he remembers Murray, their son.

“Murray? Of course. We went to school with him for a while, didn’t we? Did he take over the place from his parents?”

Yes, he did, Steve tells him. After he got back from the war, Murray had gone to college but then he’d gone back to parents’ business. It was Murray who had expanded the business from one hot dog shack to an empire.

“Wow, good for him! Are the Handwerkers still running the shack at the fair?”

Steve hesitates.

Oh, right. He’s not talking about a few short years ago. 70 years is not a few short years. “They’re all dead, ain’t they?”

Tap.

“Even Murray?”

Tap.

“Oh.” Bucky pauses. “Well, I’ll tell you what. Next summer, we’ll go to the fair, okay? We’ll get hot dogs from Nate’s and we’ll see how many of the old rides are still there. Okay?”

Steve points out that they can go to Nate’s any time they want.

“I know, but I wanna make a day of it. Go to the fair, eat lots of hot dogs, go on lots of rides, win lots of stuffed bears—the whole thing. Once the fair opens in the summer, we’ll go.” Bucky gives Steve’s hand a squeeze. “Steve, I wanna ask you something but you gotta be honest with me, okay?”

Tap.

“What—what happened with my parents? My sisters? Do you know?”

Nothing.

Then:

A hesitant tap.

“Are any of them still alive?”

He’s already prepared himself for the answer to be no. Seventy years is a damn long time and everyone else they’d known is dead, so it’s no surprise—

Tap.

Bucky blinks.

“You—what?”

Tap.

“Are—Steve you know what a tap means, right?”

Tap, tap.

“You—my—my family’s still alive?”

Steve flips his hand over and is spelling quickly. But Bucky’s so shocked by Steve’s initial tap that he isn’t tracking the letters.

“I—Steve, stop, stop, stop. You gotta start again. Sorry. A little slower. I’m—I’m a little shook up. I wanna know, but I ain’t tracking as quick as usual. Pause longer between words, please.”

Tap, tap.

Steve tells Bucky that one of his sisters is still alive.

“What?! Who? Becca?”

Steve taps his hand.

She’d been the youngest out of the bunch. She was born when Bucky had just turned twelve. He’d adored all of his sisters, but because he was closer in age to Elsie and Laura, his relationship with Becca had always been different.

She’d been the cutest little thing, but nobody in the Barnes household was excited about adding another mouth to feed to the bunch. Bucky had quit school and started working very soon after Becca was born, and with both his parents also working, it was left to ten year old Laura and eight year old Elsie to raise Becca while going to school at the same time.

Bucky can’t believe she’s still alive. Seventy years later and Becca’s still alive. This—he never even thought this was a remote possibility.

Oh, my God.

_His sister is still alive._

70 years later, and she’s still alive.

“She’s gotta be—she’s gotta be—I can’t do the math right now. How old is she?”

Steve tells him she’s 88.

“Hot damn! Baby Becca is 88 years old. Have—have you seen her? Is she in New York?”

Steve doesn’t reply.

Bucky frowns. “Rogers, now is not the time to forget how to spell. This is—you _know_ how incredible this is! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me earlier! Jesus Christ, Rogers. Baby Becca! I can’t believe it.”

He’s getting more excited by the minute. He wants to see her as soon as possible. Even if she isn’t in New York, he can handle a plane ride if it means it brings him to another member of his family. First he gets Steve back, and now Becca! Unbelievable!

Talking to her will be tricky. Steve will have to translate. Oh, and she’ll notice his arm. Maybe that’ll be too much for her? Maybe he should get some kind of prosthetic thing that he can attach just so it’s not such a shock? Maybe she won’t notice it’s not real if he—

Steve’s talking again.

Bucky eagerly follows along, ready to make plans.

But Steve’s words are not what he wants to hear.

Steve tells him Becca’s sick. Very sick.

“Sick? What’s wrong with her? Who are her doctors? What are they saying she’s got? We can pay for—”

Steve says there’s nothing the doctors can do. She has Alzheimers and it’s in a very late stage. She doesn’t recognize anybody around her and she barely remembers anything about her life.

…

Bucky feels like somebody dumped a bucket of cold water over him. This—this is not what he wanted to hear.

“Where is she?”

She’s in New York, at a long-term care home in Queens.

“Have you—” His throat is getting tight. He swallows hard and tries again. “Have you been to see her?”

Steve takes a while to start talking. Bucky can feel that his hand’s shaking. He’s torn between not wanting to force Steve to continue a conversation that’s as painful for him as it is for Bucky, but on the other hand, he has a right to know, and right now Steve’s the only one who can give him the answers he needs.

Steve tells him he talked to the staff at the home. They said Becca wouldn’t recognize him and she has a tendency to get violent and upset when she gets confused. They told him the visit would only be upsetting for both of them and he wouldn’t get what he’d come for.

They advised him to stay away and remember Becca the way she used to be.

That’s what she would want if she were capable of understanding the situation.

When Steve is done telling him this, he runs his hand up Bucky’s arm and pulls him into his arms. Bucky buries his face into Steve’s sweater. He’s having trouble breathing and he can feel tears clogging his eyes.

It’s so damn unfair!

He’s finally home—and even though Becca’s still here, she’s not really here.

“So they’re all gone?”

Steve kisses his head and tightens his arms around him, rocking the swing gently. He doesn’t answer the question, but Bucky knows the answer.

He’d known—they’d all known—that he’d probably never see his family again once he’d stepped foot on that train bound for training camp.

Never in a million years did Bucky think that he’d be the one to come home and that they’d be the ones who were gone.

Bucky quietly lets his tears flow, sniffling into Steve’s sweater.

Even though he’d known that he’d probably never see his family again—but the reason behind it was supposed to be that _he_ would be the one dying, not the other way around.

He remembers his pa hadn’t been able to take the day off work to come to the train station. That hadn’t really surprised Bucky. By that point, his pa and him rarely spoke.

His ma, Laura, Elsie, Becca and Steve had all come to see him off at the train station. He’d hugged and kissed his ma, who’d been struggling not to cry. Elsie was busy making eyes at all the other soldiers around them saying goodbye to their families, Laura fussed with Bucky’s uniform and Becca kept smacking him on the arm to get his attention and reminding him to write to her.

“Babies don’t get letters, Becca. We’ve been over this. If you’re too little to read, then you don’t get a letter.”

14 year old Becca gave him that narrow-eyed unimpressed look which Bucky knows they both got from their pa. She smacked Bucky on the arm a bit harder than before. “For the millionth time, I ain’t a baby no more.”

“You just keep telling yourself that. Now hurry up and give me a hug.”

He hugged each of his sisters, one by one, telling them each he loved them and to take good care of each other.

Then he turned to Steve. He’d already said goodbye to Steve properly at their apartment, since they couldn’t say goodbye the way they wanted in public, but he still bent down and pulled him into a tight hug. As he’d done for fifteen years, Bucky automatically put himself next to Steve’s right ear while they hugged.

He remembers Steve was shaking and tense. “Don’t you start crying, punk, or I’m gonna start crying and I ain’t gonna be able to kill Nazis if I’m busy crying.”

Steve let out a strained laugh. Bucky squeezed him tighter and turned his head so his hat was blocking his lips from view. He lowered his voice and whispered into Steve’s right ear. “I love you. You hear me? I love you and I want you to do take care of yourself and the girls and ma, okay? You gotta do that for me, Stevie, or I’m not gonna be able to focus over there, and that ain’t good.” He barely moved his lips, so scared that somebody might overheard. He doubted anybody could overhear them in the noise and bustle surrounding them, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

Steve nodded, shaking even harder. He turned his head so his lips were close to Bucky’s neck. His voice was shaking when he spoke, the words also a hushed whisper. “You better still be in one piece when I see you again, jerk. And you remember that I love you, okay? No matter what happens over there, you remember that.”

Bucky smiled, given him another squeeze, then he pulled back, aware that their hug was taking much too long.

He remembers Laura stepping forward and tugging his hat straight while he slung his pack over his shoulder. Elsie had wandered away from them and was flirting with one of Bucky’s soon-to-be fellow soldiers and his ma was struggling to look brave.

Steve put his hand to his mouth and to anyone else it would have looked like he was struggling to stay in control of himself—but Bucky could see him kiss his hand and discreetly fling the kiss in Bucky’s direction.

Bucky grinned and lifted his arm, trying to make it look like he was shifting his pack’s strap, but really, he was catching the kiss. He stuck the kiss into his pocket and smiled at Steve rolling his eyes. But the punk was smiling a bit, so that’s what mattered.

When Bucky started walking towards the train car to board, he threw a wink in Becca’s direction. “Bye, Baby Becca!”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You listen, Bucky Barnes! I better be the first name listed on top of every letter, or you’re gonna get it when you’re back. That’s a promise!”

That comment drew his ma’s attention away from him, and the last memory he has of them is Laura, Elsie and Steve waving, while his ma and Becca argued over her wording choices.

He remembers how terrified he felt getting on that train.

The first 25 years of his life had been relatively predictable, but that predictability was over now.

He remembers throwing one last glance up at the sky before he got onto the train car, thinking about another member of his family who hadn’t been here to see him off.

Mrs. R had been gone for seven years already. Unbelievable.

_I know I usually I just ask you to look after Steve, ma and the girls, but for the next little while, I’d really appreciate it if you added me to that list, Mrs. R._

That had been an enormous comfort to him: knowing that Mrs. R was coming with him and she’d watch over him.

When he got into the train car, he saw there were about a dozen soldiers crowded around the window, all of them trying to stick their hands or faces through the little portion of it that opened. Bucky didn’t feel like getting into a fight within ten seconds of being together with these people, so he’d settled in a seat where he had a tiny view out of the window. He could see Elsie’s bright red hat, and from there, he could identify Steve, his ma and the girls. They were all waving frantically, even though none of them could see him.

That was the last time he’d seen the people he loved most all together.

And now, seventy years later, even though he had been granted the miracle of having Steve back in his life, his earlier fears have now finally been verified.

Steve’s all that’s left of his family.

Well, Becca’s still physically here, but really she had passed away years ago, just like everyone else.

He snuggles into Steve’s chest and feels Steve pull the blanket up higher around him. It’s getting a bit chilly, but Bucky doesn’t want to move. The sadness is sitting heavy in his gut but being comforted by Steve makes him feel a bit better.

At one point, Steve pulls Bucky’s hand out from under the blanket and tells him he’s gonna go turn the heat lamp on.

“Okay.” Bucky releases Steve and waits for Steve to get off the swing. Moments later, he feels heat warming his face from the nice little lamp Steve had installed when the evenings had started getting chillier.

Steve comes back and buries himself back into the blanket and pulls Bucky back into his arms, gently rubbing his back.

Bucky lets himself drift in memories. He hadn’t spent as much time with Becca as he had with Laura and Elsie—there was the age difference, but also the fact that they were rarely in the same place at the same time—but she’d been so similar to him that everybody always commented on it.

“You remember when you caught her making money as a paperboy? She’d pinned up her hair and she was wearing a pair of my old trousers that she’d rolled up about ten times?”

He can feel Steve laughing and he taps Bucky’s back several times.

Steve reminds him he’d walked right past her the first time.

Bucky chuckles. “That’s right! You told me about that. You went looking for work.”

Tap, tap.

Steve had been doing his usual rounds in the area, going into shops and asking if anybody had some work for him or if they had any signs or pictures they wanted re-done. He hadn’t had any luck, so he was heading back home to get his good sketching supplies and he’d been planning to head down to the river to try to get money doing portraits—when something about the paperboy standing by the Court Street Station stairwell had caught his eye.

It wasn’t until he looked closer that he recognized eleven year old Becca Barnes. He forced her to come home with him immediately—he didn’t know how angry Mr. Barnes would be, but he knew Bucky would be a kinder alternative—and Steve yelled for a bit and then they sat there until Bucky came home from work.

Then it was Bucky’s turn to yell. No matter how many times Becca tried explaining that Steve had already yelled about those things earlier, Bucky’s fear kept him yelling.

Hawking papers at that time wasn’t an easy or a very safe job. Due to the fierce competition for any work, the youngsters found themselves competing with grown men for the jobs which traditionally had been reserved for children. Not only did the children have to compete with grown men, but the kids themselves competed hard for the best paper-selling spots in the city. Territory was everything and kids would group together to fend off newbies who tried encroaching on their area. Then there was the competition between the newspapers themselves. It was common for papers to hire individuals specifically to sabotage the sales of other papers—which was easiest to do by attacking the competitors’ paperboys.

It really wasn’t the easy, safe job that it had been ten years earlier. Definitely not something an eleven year old girl should be doing by herself.

Becca glared throughout the yelling, and then calmly explained that she was taking all the right precautions. If Steve would have paused and let her explain before hauling her away, she would have been able to explain that she was working with Henry Crayworth.

That shut Bucky up—and made Steve frown—because that didn’t make any sense. Henry Crayworth had suffered a brain injury during the Great War and couldn’t write his own name anymore, never mind do much for work. He was still living at home with his mother and nobody knew what would happen with Henry once she passed.

So Becca went on to explain that Henry was her protection. She paid him a third of her day’s wages in exchange for him standing nearby and making sure nobody hassled her or put hands on her. During her first few days, he’d had to put his foot down with quite a few people, but now that word was getting out, things were going very well. As for the trousers and her hair—she said she’d gotten hired on while dressing as herself, but the boys wouldn’t let her get her own corner as a girl, so she’d ‘quit’, pinned up her hair, dressed in Bucky’s old clothes and had gone back a few hours later and got hired as ‘John Smith’.

That still makes Bucky laugh. “Oh, my God, you remember her explaining about Henry and ‘John Smith’?”

Steve’s laughing. He pulls out Bucky’s hand and tells him that it was exactly the kind of thing Bucky would think of.

Bucky chuckles. “Yeah. She definitely had brains, that kid. Oh, Baby Becca.”

Despite her smart plan, Bucky had put his foot down and told her that her days of hawking papers were done. She demanded to know why, and Steve reminded her that she was supposed to be in school, not selling newspapers out on the street.

She glared at both of them, but focused most of her glare on Bucky. “You quit school when you were my age.”

Bucky let out an ugly laugh. “Yeah. And you know why? So you four could keep going to school!”

“I don’t need school! You quit school and you’re doing real good.”

“Yeah, I quit school, and you know what the rest of my life is gonna be, huh? Boring, hard manual labor. Day after day after day. Six days a week from now until the day I die. Because that’s the kind of work you get if you ain’t educated.”

Becca had started looking less sure about her whole plan, but she still had that stubborn glint in her eye. Bucky desperately searched his brain for something else that would make this plan of hers less desirable.

“Or! Or you can hope that you’ll marry some rich man who’ll take care of you.” Bucky knew that would get her riled up.

“I ain’t need a man to take care of me! I can take care of me!”

Steve stepped forward. “Yeah, you can. And you can do it one of two ways: you can quit school now and do backbreaking physical work for the rest of your life, or you can spend a few years in school, get a good education and then you can get a decent job, like at an office or in a shop.”

“I’m smart, I can work in an office or shop any time I want!”

Steve let out a sigh. “Of course you’re smart, Becca! But if you quit school, you ain’t gonna have proof that you’re smart. You remember when I worked at the picture house a few years back? Before they gave me that job, they asked me if I’d finished school, and the only reason they picked me over two others is because I had and I had the paper to prove it.”

Bucky gently laid his hands on her little shoulders. “Becca, believe us, this ain’t something you’re gonna find useful today or even tomorrow, but you will later.”

She still looked undecided about the whole thing, so they finally decided to compromise by letting her sell papers just for a few hours each Tuesday and Thursday morning. On Saturdays, she could spend all day hawking papers if she wanted. She’d miss a bit of school on Tuesdays and Thursdays, but not enough that she couldn’t catch up.

“Okay. I guess that’s fair.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Jesus. You’re gonna make me go grey by the time I’m thirty. You hear that, Baby Becca? Who does that to their brother, huh?”

Steve frowned at Bucky. “What d’ya mean ‘thirty’? Ain’t you looked in a mirror recently, old man?”

Bucky glared at Steve—and then at Becca, who started laughing. “I hate both of you.” Then he went out to get water while Steve got Becca helping with dinner preparations.

Over dinner, they finalized Becca’s work and school schedule. One thing they all agreed on was that their ma and pa shouldn’t know about it. His ma would cry and fuss and worry about what the neighbors thought, and his pa would probably give Becca a beating. If he didn’t like the idea of Bucky working at that age, Bucky could only imagine what his reaction would be to his youngest daughter deciding to work.

At the end of each shift, Becca would head back to the office and hand in a portion of her pay to her boss. A third of the leftover went to Henry, and the rest went into a jar hidden in the wall behind the stove in Bucky and Steve’s apartment. If it was a Tuesday or Thursday, Henry would then take her to school. Bucky would add her money to the portion of his own pay that he always gave to his ma. Becca was contributing to the Barnes household like she wanted, and their ma and pa were none the wiser. Everybody was happy.

Bucky sighs happily, snuggling into Steve’s sweater. That’s one of his favourite Becca memories.

Then Steve asks Bucky if he remembers Becca’s ninth birthday.

“Of course I do. We’d saved up for months to get her and two of her friends tickets to see Snow White at the picture house. You remember she didn’t believe us when we told her we got the tickets?”

Bucky’s quiet for a moment. “You remember when she showed up in the middle of the night that one winter? She must have been five or six?”

Steve’s hands shake—he must be laughing—and he taps Bucky’s back.

It was the dead of winter and Bucky and Steve had just managed to fall asleep, when somebody had started banging on their door. Thinking it was a neighbor who needed help, Bucky untangled himself from the pile of blankets, clothes, wrapped up warm bricks, and a snoring Steve—who was lying on his right side so he probably hadn’t even heard the knocking—and went to open the door.

And there was Baby Becca, bundled up in her winter clothes, glaring and looking very unimpressed with the world.

At first, Bucky thought he’d drunk something bad without realizing it, or he was getting sick and was hallucinating things—because surely, his baby sister couldn’t be standing outside his door in the middle of the night in the middle of the winter.

But when she let out an annoyed sigh and pushed past him, muttering that his staring wasn’t helping her get warm, he realized that yes, Baby Becca was actually here.

She took off her boots and immediately shoved her way into bed, where a sleepy, confused Steve was just blinking himself awake. He startled at the expected intrusion into the bed, but once he recognized her, his fear had turned to confusion.

“Wh—Becca, what are you doing here?”

Bucky had a better question. “How the hell did you get here?”

She wiggled around on the bed, getting herself comfortable amid the layers of blankets and clothes. “I walked, stupid. And I’m here cause your bed has more room in it. And don’t swear, Bucky, or I’ll tell ma.” She shot a glare in Bucky’s direction. “Shut the door, Bucky! You’re letting the cold air in! And come to bed. Steve ain’t warm enough for me. Can you budge one of the bricks up higher? I can’t reach it.”

Because he was getting cold, Bucky shut the door, checked the fire in the stove and nudged one of the wrapped bricks up between Becca’s feet before getting back into bed. All three of them got comfortable with Becca in the middle and Bucky draping his arm across both her and Steve. Bucky had fussed with the blankets and clothes, pulling everybody’s hats down over their ears and making sure the blankets were tucked in tight.

Finally, he poked Becca in the cheek—which was one of the only parts of her still exposed. “You did tell ma and pa where you were going, right?”

She glared. “They ain’t got the right to know. They were being nasty to me.”

Steve groaned loudly into the pillow and Bucky wanted to cry. He knew what this meant. It meant he had to get up and go walking through the cold night to tell his parents that Becca wasn’t dead in a ditch somewhere.

God damn it!

So Bucky got back up, tucked the blankets around the other two and put more of their precious wood into the stove to provide extra heat while he was gone.

He found his pa on his way to the Barnes apartment and explained that his nitwit of a daughter was safe and sound at Bucky’s apartment. His pa had ranted and raved, but Bucky had been too cold to stand there and listen to it—besides, he hadn’t been the one to run off in the middle of the night, so that yelling should have been directed at Becca—and he headed back home.

He spent long minutes warming himself in front of the stove, not wanting to bring any additional cold into the bed with him.

By the time they were all tucked into bed together again, Becca could barely keep her eyes open, so explanations could wait until the morning.

It turned out that Becca didn’t enjoy the sleeping arrangements at the Barnes’ when it got very cold. On those night, the two beds got pushed together and his ma, pa, Elsie, Laura and Becca would snuggle together for warmth. Apparently Becca would complain all night about not having enough pillow space, about being kicked, about getting somebody’s hair in her mouth, about being elbowed, about somebody’s snoring etc. His ma and pa had finally started telling her to keep her mouth shut because her whining was interfering with everybody’s sleep.

Becca had decided that she no longer wanted to participate in that sleeping arrangement, and had come over to Steve and Bucky’s apartment instead.

When Bucky took Becca back home to discuss it with his ma and pa, it was decided that Becca would continue sleeping at Bucky and Steve’s when it was very cold out. Steve was barely bigger than Elsie, so while it was a bit crowded with the three of them, it wasn’t too bad.

For some reason, Becca never seemed to have problems sleeping with Bucky and Steve, despite the fact that she had even less room in their bed than she’d had with his parents and sisters. Plus, Bucky knew he sometimes elbowed her accidentally, and both he and Steve snored. But she seemed happier sharing with them, so that’s the arrangement they had. Bucky always thought she was fussing for the sake of fussing, but he loved spending time with his youngest sister, so he kept his opinions to himself.

Steve is spelling on Bucky’s hand. He asks if Bucky remembers giving them good night kisses.

“ _Them_? What are you talking about?”

Steve tells him when Bucky would come home very tired from a double shift, he’d take off his boots and fall straight into bed. The only thing he always took time to do was give both Becca and Steve a kiss on the cheek and tell them both he loved them and for them to have a good night.

Bucky chuckles. “Seriously? I kissed you too? Was that before we were…?”

Tap.

“Jesus. I don’t remember that.”

Steve figures he didn’t. Steve hadn’t ever said anything because he’d secretly enjoyed it, and Becca had been too young to understand why Bucky shouldn’t be doing something like that to Steve. She thought it was sweet, but Steve told her it had to be a special secret between the two of them. Otherwise, if word got out, everybody would want Bucky kisses before going to sleep, and Bucky wouldn’t have any time to actually sleep.

Bucky laughs. “So you were in cahoots with Baby Becca whenever she stayed over?”

Tap.

“Was I doing anything else when I was half asleep that I should know about?”

Steve tells him that no, there’s nothing he should know about.

Bucky narrows his eyes. He’d caught Steve’s specific wording, but he decides to let it go. Right now, he’d rather focus on remembering Becca.

As they continue sharing memories, Bucky realizes that he never asked Steve exactly how his parents, Laura or Elsie had died…

…but he realizes he doesn’t need to know that right now. No matter how they died, it’s gonna be a sad story, and Bucky’s not in the mood for more sad stories. Maybe one day he’ll ask Steve, but not today.

He doesn’t want to spend any more time thinking about the last time he saw his family and how unfair this whole situation is.

Instead, he’d rather spend time reminiscing about happy memories. Especially when it comes to Becca.

He realizes Steve got good advice from Becca’s caregivers. This is the way Becca would want them to remember her.

The six year old stubborn nitwit who threw a fit and marched through a frozen, dark city by herself to find a bed with even less room than the one she’d left behind.

The eleven year old smart, independent girl who got herself a job despite enormous odds, and at the same time, helped Henry Crayworth, who was somebody nobody had time to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you check out [the link](http://i.imgur.com/PVEaE2m.jpg) to the adorable sketch of Becca selling newspapers which [LABB](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LABB/pseuds/LABB) drew?


	28. Chapter 28

A few days later, Bucky brings up an idea he’d had. He’s always trying to help Steve find new activities for him to do—especially activities that he doesn’t need Steve’s help for—and being at Brooklyn Bridge Park had given him a good idea.

“Can we buy some plants that I can learn to take of, Stevie? It can’t be that hard, and as long as the plants feel different from each other, I can always tell what’s what.”

Steve is very excited about that idea. But he reminds Bucky that winter is coming, so there’s no point in doing outdoor plants.

“Okay, but what about ones that we can keep inside? Let’s try to find some like that.”

They head off to a nearby flower shop and when Steve tells him to explain to the shop employee what he’s looking for, Bucky rattles off his list of requirements.

He’s never done any gardening before so the plants shouldn’t be too fussy. Plus, he has to interact with them purely based on touch and smell, so they should each feel and smell different, and of course, all of them should be safe to touch.

At first, the employee brings them to some flowers, which all feel very nice, but when Bucky realizes that the flowers won’t last very long, and he’ll be left with leaves and stems which pretty much feel identical, he asks to focus on other types of plants.

Steve steers him to different parts of the shop and helps guide his hand to whatever plant the employee shows them. Bucky is careful to keep his hand to himself unless Steve directs it—the last thing he wants is to break something or touch a plant that will hurt him.

The first plant which he immediately knows he’s bringing home has the softest, fuzziest leaves he’s ever touched. “Is this a real plant, Steve? Are you sure? I ain’t petting a dog?”

No, Steve reassures him, it really is a plant. It’s called Lamb’s Ear.

“Well, they chose that name well. It really does feel like a lamb’s ear! Touch it, Steve. It feels amazing.” He gropes around for Steve’s hand and brings their hands to the leaves so Steve touches it too. “I definitely wanna get this one.”

Another one that Bucky loves has long, fuzzy flowers that feel like fuzzy rope hanging off the stems. That’s a Chenille, and the shop employee tells him it’s a fast growing plant, so he’ll have to prune it regularly.

They buy a Sedum, which has thick, waxy leaves that have a wavy edge. The leaves grow in bundles that feel like little flowers. They also get a Sea Holly, which has flowers composed of a round ball covered in soft spikes, with a base made out of long, thin spiky edged pedals. The stem also feels different from the other plants—it’s thin and sturdy, so even if it doesn’t have flowers, Bucky can tell it apart from the others.

Lastly, they go to a section with Geraniums. Bucky already likes the big clump of little flowers that they all have, but the leaves are unremarkable—feeling very similar to the Chenille’s leaves. But then Steve brings Bucky’s hand back to one of the plants, rubs his fingers over one of the leaves, and brings his fingers to his nose.

It smells like lemon.

_Lemons!_

Then Steve brings his hand to another one, and that one smells like a rose!

Bucky spends lots of time smelling every single one, before he decides he likes the Peppermint Geranium the best.

They take a hackie back home with all their new plants and supplies, and Bucky waits until Steve’s cleared space on the shelves for them.

The employee had given them little cards with information about each plant, and Steve carefully translates the information for Bucky.

Bucky can easily differentiate between the five plants by touching and smelling them, and within a few days, he can tell the difference between healthy leaves and shrunken, half-dead leaves. He can also feel when a flower is starting to dry up and die. He learns how much water each plant needs and when he needs to feeds them a little fertilizer. During the day, he’ll often stand between the plants and the window, waiting to feel the warmth of the sun on his face. If it stays cold, that means the drapes aren’t open enough or the plants need to be moved around a bit.

Watering them is very difficult at first. Steve had bought him a normal watering can, but it has a long spout, and Bucky can’t see or feel where he’s putting the spout. Plus, he has no idea how much water he’s pouring. He tries putting the plant on a tray, pouring a bit of water and then checking to see if he got it on the plant or the tray—but the process is slow and frustrating.

Next, Steve buys him a plastic child’s watering can, which has a very short spout, but it has a thick head so Bucky can’t get it to water the soil itself. He can pour it over the leaves, but he realizes that a lot of the water doesn’t actually get down to the soil.

He switches to using a small cup. He can hold it with two fingers and feel with his other fingers where he water’s going and if he’s watered enough. But sometimes he loses his grip on it and it falls, spilling water everywhere and sometimes the glass even breaks.

Steve goes searching on the internet and gives Bucky other options to try.

None of them work very well.

Finally, Steve suggests using the same kind of water bottle that they bring on their walks. When turned upside down, water doesn’t come gushing out unless the bottle is squeezed, and it has a little bit of a spout—enough that Bucky can jam it underneath the leaves and squirt water directly onto the soil.

That works wonderfully. He can water the plant, then close the water bottle and put on the floor while he checks the soil to see if he’s watered enough. Even if he knocks over the water bottle or steps on it, nothing bad happens.

Bucky loves his plants. He loves that their care is purely in his hands. He’s the one feeding and watering them and making sure they’re getting enough sunlight. He loves that he can tell which plant is which by their unique textures and scent, so he often moves them around the apartment to find better patches of sunlight.

One afternoon, he’s tending to the geranium and feeling for flower buds which have shrivelled up so he can pluck them off. Once he’s done with the flowers, he touches each of the leaves, checking for insects or other irregularities. He comes across a few leaves which feel thinner and more fragile than they should.

He asks Steve to look up what that means, and Steve tells him maybe he’s overwatering them. Geraniums should only be watered when the soil is dry, and Bucky’s been so excited about tending to his plants that he’s been overwatering it.

Bucky feels terrible about it and adjusts his watering immediately.

A few days later, he feels the leaves and they’re all back to their usual thickness. “Hey, Steve? Can you come and check if the geranium’s leaves are back to normal? They feel good to me.”

Steve comes over and confirms that they’re no longer yellow.

That comment completely takes Bucky by surprise.

He realizes that he has no idea what color any of his plants actually are. In his mental picture of the plants, they all have green leaves and green stems and the flowers are always pink. It hadn’t occurred to him to ask Steve what color they are.

He could ask Steve what color is plants are…

But does it really matter?

He realizes that it actually doesn’t.

He knows exactly what the plants look like and color isn’t the most important characteristic for him anymore.

*             *             *

Steve’s sketching Bucky, while Bucky’s sitting on the floor, carefully working on creating a tree out of building blocks. It’s a nerve-wracking project due to its fragility, but Bucky’s spent a lot of time planning out how to create the branches so they would be stable. The tree is almost level with Bucky’s face when he’s sitting on the floor, and it looks incredible.

Steve’s distracted from his sketch by his phone letting out a chirp.

He puts down his pencil and picks up the phone and sees he’s got a new text message. It’s from Natasha.

_I hope you two geriatrics enjoy today’s adventure! Hope you didn’t  break a hip!_

He smiles and dials her number.

“Hey, old man. How’s it going?”

“Good! We had a fantastic day.”

“Oh, yeah? You made it to the grocery store?”

“Yup. And not just the grocery store. We went to the hardware store, had hot dogs from a street cart and then we went grocery shopping.”

“Tell me everything.”

Steve smiles and makes himself comfortable again, moving the sketchpad to the coffee table.

“So Buck not only put on his shoes and his jacket by himself, but he got out the door, went down the hallway, went outside and made it down the steps all by himself. I was there—obviously—but I didn’t guide him at all. I didn’t even have a hand on him. He did it all by himself. That was the best part of the day.”

“That’s awesome! His progress is unbelievable, huh?”

Steve smiles. “That’s Buck, through and through. Stubborn as a mule but when he puts his mind to something, he does it.” He struggles to contain a yawn that’s threatening to escape. It was an awesome day, but also a tiring one.

Bucky’s finished building another branch and he’s slowly lifting it to the attachment point on the tree. Steve really wants to get up and help him, but Bucky’s insisted on doing it by himself.

“The hardware store went great. Buck wasn’t too enthusiastic about it, until he realized he could touch everything and nobody would care. Nat—it never occurred to me how many different things you can touch in a hardware store. It was such a gas! They’ve got different chains and all sorts of light bulbs and different kinds of sandpaper. The only thing I didn’t let him explore were the bins with the nails in them. He could have probably spent a whole year in there, just touching things. I tried it out—I closed my eyes and touched the different stuff too. It was really nifty, Nat!”

“You’re appreciating the world in a whole different way, huh?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Did you bring some sandpaper home for his art?”

“Are you kidding? We bought two sheets of each kind. The cashier looked at us like we were whacked, but you should have seen Buck’s smile! He’s thrilled with them.”

“I think you both did awesome, Rogers.”

Steve smiles proudly. “I agree.”

Natasha laughs. “I’m glad. So did you really go for groceries? You’re such an expert at ordering them online now.”

Steve makes a face. “Yeah, but I want Buck involved, you know? I found a grocery store that’s just three blocks away.”

“Let me guess: it’s one of those tiny family owned places, huh?”

“Aw, it’s like you know me or something,” he laughs. “Yeah, it’s a tiny place. You’ll get a kick out of this: it’s actually one of the stores Buck and I went to back in the day.”

There’s a surprised pause. “Back in the day, meaning in the 30s?”

“And 20s. It opened in 1922 when I was four. We didn’t go there too often—we had other places that were closer to home, but we did shop there.”

Ever since his discussion with Bucky about how much Brooklyn has changed, Steve’s been trying extra hard to find meaningful places which have stayed the same.

“Do you know anybody who works there?”

“The man who ran it back in the day has passed away, but his son was born in ’32. He was just a little kid back then, but I remember seeing him from time to time. He owned the store after his dad passed and he’s retired now. His son runs it now.”

“The old man’s what? 83 by now?”

“Yeah.”

“Spring chicken compared to you and Bucky, huh?”

Steve laughs. “You’re hilarious.”

“What’s his name?”

“Reginald Garland. We always called him Little Reggie. He was a little goof back in the day. Always running around the store, knocking stuff over. I don’t remember his father’s name—we always called him Mr. Garland. And Reggie’s son’s name is Frank. He’s in his fifties. He’s got two daughters in college.”

“Reggie didn’t recognize you from back then, did he?”

Steve smiles. “No. He was 11 when Buck and I shipped out so that’s not a surprise. I didn’t recognize him either, I only remembered when he introduced himself. I almost didn’t recognize the store! It’s been renovated and changed over a bunch of times, but it was really nice to see something that’s still in the same spot, you know?”

Steve doesn’t tell her that the real reason he didn’t put much effort into jogging Reggie’s memory is because Garland’s Groceries had been one of Bucky’s preferred ‘five-finger-discount’ stores. When money was very tight and even the garbage cans weren’t yielding anything that would sooth their hunger, Bucky would have to steal from grocery stores. He never stole from their nearby stores. He didn’t want to risk getting caught and being banned for life. When Steve was sick, it was essential that Bucky could get whatever he needed close by. But the Garland’s store was far enough away that Bucky could access it on his way home from the docks but it wouldn’t be the end of the world if he were caught and banned. There had been quite a few winters where the Garland’s bottom line had probably been impacted by Bucky Barnes’ ‘discount’ shopping method, but when they were starving, they didn’t have a choice.

Buck had only gotten caught once. Steve was sick, Bucky had been up all night taking care of Steve and then had gone to work. Bucky was exhausted and pay day was days away, and Steve’s medicine had used up all of their money. Bucky went to Garland’s Groceries, grabbed a small loaf of bread and left the store. He was too tired to notice one of the store employees watching him the whole time. He was barely out the door when Mr. Garland smacked him over the head with a bat and shoved him to the ground, where he stayed until the police had come.

Bucky spent two days locked up until they released him due to overcrowding. Steve didn’t know what happened to Bucky, so he focused on keeping himself alive as long as possible. He dragged his fever weakened self outside so he had easier access to the outhouse and he could drink from the spigot. Thankfully it was summer, so Steve managed to stay alive while huddling against the building wall and praying that Bucky wasn’t dead. Overall, it was a pretty miserable two days for both of them. Bucky was frantic when he found him and helped him back inside.

Steve had only stolen from the Garland’s once. He remembers it clear as day: He’d gone in, hungry and cold and annoyed at the world. In the week before, Bucky hadn’t managed to get as many shifts as they’d needed, so he was going to work extra early to make sure he was first in line. Neither of them had eaten more than restaurant vegetable peelings since yesterday. Steve wandered into Garland’s to escape the cold on his way home from scavenging, and he saw one remaining sausage link in the display. He’d sworn to Bucky that he’d never steal anything, since he couldn’t possibly outrun anybody and he wouldn’t do well in jail, but his fingers snatched up the sausage before his brain really caught on. His feet carried him out of the store and he was down the block before it had really sunk in. Bucky was spitting mad, but he ate his half of the sausage at the same time, so there was more chewing than yelling.

Steve decides to keep these things to himself.

“How did Buck do during the shopping?”

“He liked the different smells and touching everything, but I did the shopping. One hand on Buck, the other holding the basket—we got the job done. He wanted to know everything that we were buying so it took about two hours, but it’s not like we ain’t got the time, right?”

“Did you tell him it’s the same store he used to go to?”

“No, not yet. As soon as we’re done here, I’m gonna tell him.”

Natasha makes a pleased noise. “Did you tell Reggie who you really were?”

“No. I didn’t wanna create a fuss. He just happened to be in the store and I knew who he was once he introduced himself so I chatted with him a bit, but I didn’t wanna chat too long. He was really nice. I told him Buck is deafblind but he didn’t seem to really understand, cause he kept asking Buck questions.”

He’s careful not to admit the fact that he had completely botched translating their conversation for Bucky. He thought he’d been ready to translate a flowing conversation between multiple people—but wow, he had been mistaken.

*             *             *

Bucky carefully holds the fragile block branch between two fingers and uses his other fingers to trace the attachment points on his tree. He counts as he moves up—first branch, second branch, and there, an attachment point without a branch. Moving slowly and very carefully he snaps the branch onto the block jutting out of the tree trunk.

When he’s sure it’s stable, he gently withdraws his hand.

Excellent.

He can picture it in his mind and he thinks his tree is looking pretty damn good already.

He’s especially proud of himself because they’d had a long and tiring day already, but he has enough stamina and focus left to be working on his tree with no big problems so far.

Overall, Bucky thinks they had an excellent day. He’s getting faster at getting down the stairs by himself and the hardware store had been awesome. So many interesting things to touch!

And the sandpaper sheets are a great addition to his collection of art supplies.

The grocery store had been tough. Steve had been leading so Bucky just followed along. Some parts were enjoyable—like when they were picking through the vegetables and fruits and Bucky could smell each item and guess what it was. The rest was a bit boring. Steve told him what it was they were buying—but all the cans and boxes pretty much felt the same.

Bucky was already tired and not enjoying the lack of stimulation when Steve had stopped walking. Bucky had patiently waited for Steve to continue, but when the punk continued standing there, Bucky had demanded to know what was going on. Then Steve had stepped on his foot once—which is their signal for Bucky to greet someone.

Bucky had quickly dropped his cane, letting it dangle from the wrist strap and held out his hand.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to shock of having a strange hand suddenly grab his hand and shake it.

He’d remembered to paste a polite smile on his face and he’d greeted the person.

Then suddenly there was a different hand shaking his hand.

Okay.

He greets the new person.

He’d been waiting for Steve to tell him who’s hands he had shaken, but Steve hadn’t told him.

Instead, Steve had spelled ‘how are you’.

So Bucky had said: “I’m doing very well, thank you. How are—”

Then Steve had started spelling something else, but because Bucky had been busy focusing on his reply, he hadn’t caught all the letters. He just got:

L-I-T.

R-E-G.

Number sign.

Tap on thumb.

Double tap on ring finger.

S-A-M-E.

_What?_

Bucky had struggled to keep up with what Steve had been trying to tell him, but since he hadn’t even know the topic of the conversation, he couldn’t keep up with the abbreviations which Steve was making up.

Usually he can figure them out based on context, but this was impossible.

Finally, he’d decided to tune Steve out. He’d let Steve’s fingers dance across his palm and spell whatever he wanted and Bucky kept a polite smile on his face.

He didn’t want to cause a scene or make Steve feel bad about the terrible translation job he’d been doing.

So he’d stood there in silence, keeping the smile on his face and patiently waiting until Steve stepped on his foot twice. That was his signal to say good-bye.

“It was nice to meet you! Have a great day.” He carefully hadn’t said ‘it was nice to meet you both’ since he hadn’t been completely sure that he’d been only talking to two people, and he hadn’t added a ‘sir’ or ‘ma’am’ to it, since he had no idea what gender the people had been.

Since Bucky needed Steve focused on being his sighted guide and not feeling annoyed at himself, Bucky had decided to wait until they got home before bringing it up.

*             *             *

Bucky keeps working on his block tree until he feels a hand touch his arm while he’s fishing new blocks out of their containers. His fingers drop the blocks he was holding and trace up the hand to the wrist.

There’s the leather bracelet with a bead and the familiar notches.

Di, di, dit.

Dah.

“Hi, Stevie. You done talking to Natasha?”

Tap, tap.

“Okay. Can we go sit on the couch for a while? I wanna talk about what happened at the grocery store.”

Steve tap, tap, taps his hand, seeming very excited. His hand disappears and Bucky gets up and makes his way to the couch. Once he’s settled, Steve’s hand is back on his, talking a mile a minute.

He tells Bucky that they had shopped at Garland’s Groceries.

That derails Bucky’s planned conversation entirely, because there’s something very familiar about that name.

“That’s—that’s—well ain’t that just the coincidence of the year, huh? Or are you saying it ain’t a coincidence? Is that—that can’t be the same shop we went to when we were younger, is it?”

Steve confirms that it is.

Bucky blinks. “Seriously?”

That’s when he remembers Steve had spelled out ‘L-I-T’ and ‘R-E-G’…

That can’t mean…

“We weren’t talking to Little Reggie, were we?”

Steve taps his hand.

“Seriously?! The man must be over a hundred.”

Steve tells him he’s not quite that old, but yes, it’s Little Reggie, he’s just not so little anymore.

Bucky lets out a laugh. “You remember why we liked Garland’s Groceries? It was my favourite—”

Steve interrupts him, spelling ‘five finger discount store’ on his hand.

“Yeah, it was. Damn! We better not remind Reggie about that, huh?”

Steve’s fingers shake on his palm as he laughs. He tells Bucky that at least they’re paying for their groceries now.

Bucky chuckles. “Yeah, that’s true. We don’t need to use our special shopping method anymore, huh? Jesus Christ, I can’t _believe_ the shop’s survived this long! I guess the fact that we never paid for anything didn’t impact them in the long run, huh? Hey, you remember that time you stole that sausage, you punk? Your life of crime.”

Steve points out that at least he never actually got arrested for it, which makes Bucky laugh.

“It seems I’m destined to be the one who always ends up in prison. It’s the universe’s way of righting things since you spent half your life locked up in hospitals.”

He pulls Steve close and gives him a kiss, feeling the smile on his lips.

“Listen, I wanna talk to you about our chat in the store today.”

Steve’s tap on his hand seems very hesitant. Then he’s immediately apologizing. He says he knows he did very badly and he’s been waiting to apol—

Bucky curls up his hand and squeezes Steve’s fingers. “I know, sweetheart. You did your best, I know. Translating a conversation between multiple people has to be hard. It ain’t the same as you and me chatting back and forth. We gotta work on it, that’s all. I don’t need to know every single thing that’s being said.”

He can feel Steve trying to loosen his fingers so he tightens his grip.

“I mean it, Steve. There’s no way you can translate every word that’s being said. I don’t need that. You just gotta make sure I know exactly when it’s my turn to say something and what I should be saying. And you gotta let me know who I’m talking to. Tell me the person’s name or if you don’t know, tell me if they’re male or female and who they are—a cashier, a stranger. If you give me some clues, then I can keep up easier.”

He pulls Steve close again and kisses his cheek. “Let’s take it nice and slow, okay? You’ll get better at it, and we’ll figure out what systems to use.”

*             *             *

As usual, Steve turns to the internet for help. He learns that apparently what he's trying to do isn't 'translating' but 'interpreting'. Translating is for written things. That's one of the only helpful pieces of information he finds. There are a lot of websites listing do's and don'ts for interpreting for somebody, but they include things like: being punctual and knowing what communication method the deafblind individual prefers.

And all the websites agree: to be a successful interpreter, a person should have the right training.

Steve doesn't have the right training but he thinks this is something he and Bucky will be able to tackle and eventually master. They figured out how to walk around outside without having to take expensive classes and put up with having a stranger sticking his or her nose into their lives. Steve hopes they'll have the same luck with this. If Steve really can't do it, he'll hire a professional, but he wants to give it a decent try first.

Like with the walking, they'll have to practice, practice, practice.

Eventually Steve hopes he'll get the hang of translating properly.

Damn it.

Rogers, let's start by getting the words right, okay?

 _Interpreting_. Steve will get the hang of _interpreting_.

Eventually.

Hopefully.

*             *             *

A few weeks later, Steve’s chatting with Natasha on the phone. When the conversation’s winding down, an idea pops into his head. “Hey, you wanna drop by tomorrow?”

There’s a pause before she answers. “Really?”

“Yeah. I think Buck’s ready for it.”

“Are you?”

“Nat—it’s you, not some stranger. It’ll be fine. I’ll talk to Buck about it.”

“If it’s okay with Buck—and I really mean only if it’s okay with Buck—I’d be honored. Really.”

Steve smiles. “You gonna bring us lunch?”

“Sure. So—ground rules?”

“Simple. If you move something, please put it back exactly where you found it. As for Buck—you can touch him, but start with his hand and then move up his arm if you have to go anywhere else. But in general, try to only touch his hand and give him space when he’s moving around. If you aren’t sure about something, ask me before guessing. Oh, and when you come in, you gotta say hi to Buck before anything else. He’ll know you came in so he’ll feel anxious until he knows who you are.”

“Got it. Now go ask your boy if he’s okay with having company and text me back. And don’t worry—if he says he’s okay with it, I’ll do my part to make sure it goes well.”

“You’re my second favourite person in the universe, you know that?”

She laughs and hangs up on him.

*             *             *

Bucky’s playing [peg solitaire](https://www.maxiaids.com/peg-solitaire-game-with-wooden-marbles). Steve’s made him a wooden board that’s filled with holes. Marbles are placed in all of the holes except the very center one. He can use a marble to jump over another marble and into the empty space. The marble he’d jumped over is then removed from the board. The objective is to only leave one marble on the board. When he’d started playing it, he had a hard time keeping a mental picture of the playing surface in his head, so he’d started out with fewer marbles.

But now he’s using a full set and he can actually finish a game in one evening—whereas a few weeks ago, it would take him several days to play through one round.

He’s sitting on the couch and running his fingers over the marbles, deciding which sequence of steps he’ll do next.

He’s slightly startled when he feels somebody touch his hand and gently lift it off the board. Bucky immediately feels for the person’s wrist and feels the familiar leather bracelet with the beads and the notches.

“Hey, Stevie. What’s going on?”

Steve asks him if he’d be okay with Natasha coming over for a visit.

Immediately, Bucky feels a little anxious. While he would happily spend every day of the rest of his life with Steve, it would be nice to interact with some other people…

…but that’s the problem. Interacting with anybody these days is no longer a simple, natural exercise.

Steve’s been working hard at trying to interpret three-way or four-way conversations for Bucky, but it’s very difficult and Steve gets flustered and annoyed with himself when he screws up—which makes his interpretations even harder for Bucky to follow.

Honestly, dealing with short conversations is difficult enough. The last thing Bucky wants to do is have to endure hours of three-way conversations. He’ll either find it too difficult to follow Steve’s interpretations, or if he stops listening, he’ll be bored.

Either way, he doesn’t get a lot of joy out of those conversations. They’re more stress than enjoyment.

But not having Natasha come over is also not an option. Steve’s been close friends with Natasha since he’d woken up and he knows Steve talks to Natasha on the phone a lot.

So there’s no way he’s going to keep such joy from Steve, even if the thought of being confused or bored for hours makes him want to cry.

He realizes his grip on a marble he’s holding is way too tight and he casually relaxes his grip on it. He puts a big smile on his face. “That would be great! When’s she coming over?”

Steve spells ‘T-M-R’ into his hand.

“Great! Tomorrow! Great!” He hopes his smile isn’t coming across as phoney.

He wants to cry.

Or maybe throw his peg solitaire game out the window.

He hopes his smile is still in good condition. “That’s really great, Steve! You must be so excited!”

One of Steve’s hands was on Bucky’s knee, and it disappears—and the wooden peg board is being pulled out his hand. Steve’s hand is on Bucky’s chin, his thumb gently stroking the fake smile on his lips.

It’s clear—Steve knows something’s wrong.

Steve’s other hand is squeezing Bucky’s hand. Steve tells him he can see Bucky doesn’t look happy about it.

Bucky sighs. “I—I guess—I—I’m not thrilled about it, yeah.”

W-H-Y.

Question mark.

When Bucky hesitates too long before answer, Steve starts talking again. He tells him it’s okay if Natasha doesn’t come over.

“No, Steve, that’s not okay. I meant it—I want Natasha to come and visit. I know how important she is to you.”

A squeeze.

Steve tells him Bucky’s more important to him.

Bucky smiles. “You charmer, you. I know that, but you don’t have a lot of friends and I don’t want you losing the ones you have because of me. I want her to come over. But—can I stay in our bedroom when she’s here?”

A long pause.

Then:

Tap, tap, tap.

Steve confirms that he can stay wherever the wants, but he wants to know why Bucky would want to stay in the bedroom.

“Honestly? Because we’re still not good enough at having multi-person conversations properly. It’s exhausting and difficult and I don’t want that extra stress for either of us. It’ll take the joy out of her visit for you. That’s not an option. I’ll take my art supplies and I’ll be quiet in the bedroom—you won’t even know I’m here.”

Steve suddenly squeezes his hand hard enough to almost be painful, then the back of his hand is being vigorously rubbed.

Bucky opens his mouth to complain, but a finger is pressed against his lips. Steve tells him he should be inmolmed.

Bucky frowns. That’s not a word. “Do the last word again, please. I screwed up.”

I-N-V-O-L-V-ED.

‘V’s, Barnes. ‘V’s. Not ‘M’s. Pay attention.

Oh.

_Oh._

Bucky sighs. It’s a nice thought but the reality is that they can’t handle complex multi-person conversation yet, especially if they last for hours.

“Steve, you gotta be realistic. Neither of us are ready to deal with hours of a three-way conversation. It’ll turn into a mess and then—” Another finger on his lips, stopping his words.

Steve tells him he’s already thought about that. He’ll do his best to structure Natasha’s visit so there’s not a lot of three-way talking going on. Steve will talk with Bucky, or if Bucky’s talking to Natasha, Steve will interpret but he won’t add his own words into the conversation.

Bucky bites his lip. “That could work. But it ain’t exactly fair to always leave one person out, is it? We gotta have activities to do during the visit so the third person doesn’t feel left out.”

Steve tightens his grip on Bucky’s hand and pulls him to his feet. Steve leads him over to the shelves with their collection of games and Steve runs their clasped hands over the games.

He asks Bucky if he likes the idea of playing a game together when Natasha is here.

Bucky mulls it over. “Alright, fine. That’ll work. What else?”

Steve takes him back to the couch and presses the television remote into his hand, then tells him they can watch baseball together.

Bucky frowns. “Does Natasha like baseball?”

Steve hesitates. That’s enough of an answer for Bucky. “No, let’s be good hosts, Rogers. How about one of our other shows?”

A.

C-I-I-K-ING.

S-H-O-W.

Question mark.

Ciiking? No, that must have been cooking. That makes more sense. Damn, he’s tired.

“Cooking show?”

Tap, tap.

“Yeah, that’ll work. Even if she doesn’t watch it regularly, she might enjoy it. You can tell her about the competitors and what’s happened in past episodes. That doesn’t have to involve me, and then you can interpret the show for me while she watches.”

They stand there for a moment, Steve gently squeezing Bucky’s hand. Bucky can practically feel the punk’s worry radiating from him.

“Steve, you can still change your mind. If you wanna have a normal visit with Natasha, I can go into the bedroom and keep myself entertained. I don’t mind.”

Rub, rub, rub.

“Alright, fine. But if you get tired of this and just wanna have a normal—”

Steve’s fingers are again pressing against his lips.

The fingers slide off and are replaced with Steve’s lips, giving him a gentle kiss.

Steve flips his hand over. E-O-T-L-I.

The message is clear:

They’re making a new normal, one that will include Bucky in every way possible.

*             *             *

The next morning, they go through their morning routine, but they’re both a bit off—bumping into things and each other and forgetting what they’re doing.

They’re both nervous.

Bucky’s sitting on the couch, playing with his wooden [pyramid puzzle](https://www.maxiaids.com/pyramid-puzzle-wooden-tactile-brainteaser). It’s made up of several blocks which are different shapes and the objective is to assemble them to create a pyramid shape. Steve knows Bucky has done it often enough that he can assemble it in just a few minutes—but right now he’s just fiddling with the blocks and jamming them together in nonsensical ways.

Clearly, his mind is elsewhere.

Steve’s no better—he’s spent most of the morning on one of the deafblind support forums where he’s a frequent poster, but he’s just clicking around on different posts without actually reading anything.

Finally, the intercom buzzes.

Steve nearly leaps off the couch. His slides the computer onto the coffee table and reaches for Bucky’s hand. He squeezes the anxious fingers which are busy fiddling with the wooden blocks.

He tugs the pyramid pieces out of Bucky’s hand, turns his palm up and tells him that Natasha is here.

Bucky nods and sits up straight. “Okay. I’m ready,” he says. He’s pale but looks determined.

The intercom buzzes again, but Steve takes a second to turn Bucky’s chin towards him and give him a kiss. He squeezes Bucky’s hand—a reminder:

They’re in this together.

They make their way to the door, Bucky staying a few paces behind Steve.

Steve waits until Natasha knocks, then pulls the door open.

Natasha grins at him. “Hi boys.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming Up: Natasha visits the boys! It won't go entirely smoothly.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for Natasha's visit!

“Hey, Nat. Come on in.” Steve steps aside and Natasha brushes past him. She toes her shoes off, carefully hangs up her jacket, hat and gloves on the hooks Steve points at, hands Steve the pizza box in her hands and makes her way directly to Bucky.

Bucky’s smiling at her, but Steve can tell it’s his strained, nervous smile.

Natasha reaches out and gently touches Bucky’s hand. He reacts immediately: “Hi Natasha. It’s nice to see you again.”

He transitions smoothly into shaking her hand.

Natasha releases his hand, turns his palm up and swiftly starts spelling on his hand.

He watches her spell:

H-I.

B-U-C-K-Y.

Her finger movements are just as fast as Steve’s. Steve opens his mouth, surprised, but Bucky beats him to it.

“Oh! You know the special alphabet. That’s great!” His smile brightens and is much more genuine. “Thanks for taking the time to learn it. That means a lot to Steve and me.”

Bucky steps back and gestures in the direction of the table. “Would you like to sit down?”

She taps the back of his hand.

Bucky’s grin is bright enough to light a room. “Great! Would you like some coffee?”

Another tap.

“Okay. Please, have a seat and I’ll get us coffee. Steve, please help me with the coffee.”

Steve hasn’t moved a muscle during their interaction.

“Romanov, when the hell did you have time to learn the manual alphabet?”

She has a seat at the table and rolls her eyes. “Please. I memorized it within 10 minutes of looking at the website.”

Steve knows that might be true, but he also knows becoming fluent at using the symbols isn’t something that happens with memorization. Clearly, she had practiced.

“And you know our symbols too?”

She gives him a flat look. “What do you think I’m doing when you’re telling me things? You think I’m busy daydreaming about something? No, you silly fossil, I listen. It’s called ‘being a friend’.”

There’s a warm glow in Steve’s chest.

He makes his way to the table and wraps his arms around her, giving her a tight squeeze and kissing her cheek. “You’re a peach, you know that?”

She smiles and smacks his hand. “Go help Bucky with the coffee. And get me a plate. You have no idea how much I struggled not to eat that pizza on the way over here.”

Steve steps into the kitchen where Bucky is pulling three mugs out of the cupboard. Steve touches Bucky’s hand and discreetly asks him if he’s okay.

Bucky closes the cupboard door and silently taps Steve’s hand.

Okay, so far so good.

Bucky hands Steve each mug one at a time as Steve fills them with coffee. They head out of the kitchen, Steve carrying the three mugs and Bucky carefully running his hand along the counter and the icebox to orient himself.

Natasha is watching them from the table.

“He really doesn’t need the cane anymore in the apartment, huh?”

Steve smiles proudly, watching Bucky smoothly walk out of the kitchen and have a seat in his usual chair, the movements only a little less fluid than normal. It’s clear Bucky’s still a bit nervous, but he’s so accustomed to moving around the apartment by now that his body knows where to go even if his brain is elsewhere.

“Practice makes perfect.” They have a seat at the table and Steve hands Natasha her coffee. “He—”

“Steve, can you get the plates please?” Bucky asks.

Natasha’s still looking at Steve, but then she glances at Bucky. Steve lets out a laugh. “It’s weird when Buck interrupts, huh? I’m used to it now. You just wait—he’ll get you a couple of times too.”

She laughs. “Go get the plates. But tell Bucky you’re getting the plates or he’ll get annoyed that you’re being a rude host.”

Steve rolls his eyes, reaches over, taps Bucky’s hand and goes to get the plates and napkins. Bucky opens the pizza box and everybody helps themselves to a slice.

They eat mainly in silence, enjoying the pizza. Bucky had made it clear to Steve that as long as he has something to keep himself occupied—like eating delicious pizza—he doesn’t mind being left out of conversation. Steve and Natasha chat about a few things, but mainly focus on eating.

*             *             *

This whole thing is much stranger than Bucky thought it would be.

It’s very, very weird to be talking to somebody when he isn’t touching them.

Bucky realizes that the only other person he’s talked to without being in direct contact with them all the time was Terell—and Bucky hadn’t been talking as much as ordering the kid around.

He’s gotten so accustomed to being able to ‘see’ and ‘hear’ Steve just by touching him. He can tell exactly how Steve’s feeling by his body language—whether he’s tense or relaxed, what his hands are doing, whether he’s frowning or smiling—and by other cues: What’s Steve doing? Where is Steve sitting? Is Steve talking to Bucky a lot with his voice and his hands, or only with his hands? Is Steve using full sentences or is he using short, isolated words?

Now that he’s sitting across the table from Natasha, he realizes that he has no idea how she’s feeling. Is he being a good host? Is she feeling uncomfortable? Is she even sitting at the table still or did she go to the bathroom while Bucky was smiling in her direction??

It makes him feel nervous and weird.

He realizes how easy he has it with Steve. The ability to touch Steve whenever and however he wants has been filling his darkness and silence to an extent he wasn’t even aware of.

He’s even having a hard time choosing what to say. He’s been good at small talk his entire life, but he’s used to relying on people’s feedback—their body language, their tone, whether they’re responding with words or just little verbal noises—and he doesn’t have that anymore.

It’s great that Natasha can spell on his hand, but he realizes that doesn’t give him the feedback he really wants.

But it’s not like he has a choice. He can’t be touching people constantly, especially people who aren’t as comfortable with Bucky as Steve is. Even if it were considered okay to do that, Bucky doesn’t like that idea. He wants to be as normal as possible when he’s interacting with people.

But now he’s starting to realize how hard that’s going to be.

So he does his best to keep a polite smile on his face and tries to phrase his questions politely. If he misjudges and says the wrong thing, hopefully Steve will give him a sign before he makes a bigger mess.

This is a lot harder and a lot more uncomfortable than Bucky thought it would be.

Thank God it’s Natasha and not a complete stranger. He doesn’t know her well, but he knows he’d feel even more awkward if he were dealing with somebody he didn’t know at all.

*             *             *

Steve can tell from the polite smile on Bucky’s face that he’s not completely at ease with the situation. He’s got his ‘polite gentleman’ smile on, which he only pulls out for Steve when he’s doing it sarcastically.

Hopefully it’s not Natasha making him uncomfortable. Steve wants to know how he can make things better for Bucky, but he figures Bucky wouldn’t appreciate having his discomfort pointed out in front of their guest.

Steve knows Natasha can see through Bucky’s façade, but he decides the best thing to do is to keep going.

When everyone’s done eating and the table’s been cleared of everything except their coffee mugs, Natasha gets up to use the bathroom.

Bucky’s sipping from his coffee. He puts down his mug, smiles and faces the seat which Natasha had been occupying until about 5 seconds ago. “Would you like to play bingo?”

Steve panics for a second. Should he pretend that Natasha is still here and tap Bucky’s hand? Does Natasha tap the same way he does? Would Bucky know it’s Steve’s hand, even from a brief tap? If Bucky does figure it out, that will probably make things worse.

Shit. Steve should have told Bucky that Natasha was leaving the table before she left.

Damn it!

Steve really needs to put more effort into being a good interpreter and a good conversation coordinator. Those new roles are part of his life now and he needs to hurry up and get better at them.

He leans forward and tells Bucky that Natasha’s in the bathroom.

Bucky’s smile wavers and Steve can see him clench his jaw. Bucky’s embarrassed and looking more uncomfortable.

Steve glances at the bathroom. The door’s still closed.

He steps around the table and kneels next to Bucky’s chair. He squeezes his hand, gives it a firm kiss and tells him he’s sorry, it’s his fault he forgot to tell him.

Bucky shakes his head. He turns Steve’s hand over and tells him that this is harder than he thought it would be.

Steve spells out that he knows, he’s realized that too. He asks if he should cut Natasha’s visit short.

Bucky quickly rubs the back of Steve’s hand. He’s got that stubborn look on his face now. He tells Steve that he wants to keep trying, but Steve needs to help him more.

Steve taps his hand multiple times, spells out ‘I promise’, and then leaps back to his chair right when the bathroom door opens.

Natasha walks out and heads back to her seat.

Steve is about to take a sip from his coffee—when he realizes that once again, he’s screwing up.

Damn it.

He reaches for Bucky’s hand and tells him Natasha’s back and she’s listening.

Bucky puts his ‘polite gentleman’ smile back on. “Would you like to play bingo?”

If Natasha had heard him ask while she’d been in the bathroom, she doesn’t give any sign of it. She glances at Steve, who nods. She taps Bucky’s hand.

“Great! Steve, come help me, please.”

Bucky heads over to the game shelf and hands Steve the bingo boards while he carries the bucket of bingo items and the plastic tongs to the table. Because he’s nervous and not fully focused, Bucky puts the bucket down when it’s not quite over the table. Steve lunged for it, and manages to grab it before the whole thing tips over. A few things fall to the floor, but he saved most of it. Bucky would have definitely noticed—and been mad at himself and embarrassed—if the bucket had hit his foot.

But luckily Bucky doesn’t notice and sits down. Steve tries to be casual as he sets the bucket on the table and grabs a few items which had fallen to the floor.

Natasha is looking at one of Bucky’s art pieces on the wall next to the front door and doesn’t give any sign that she noticed the little slip up.

Steve knows that she did notice, but he’s grateful she’s not calling attention to it.

For the millionth time, he’s glad that their first visitor is Natasha and not a complete stranger.

Steve slides a bingo board in front of each of them. They’re covered in a grid created by pipe cleaners glued to the boards. Bucky gives the bucket a shake.

Natasha’s examining the board. “So how do—”

“Okay. Everybody needs to take items from the bucket and put one thing in each square. You can’t do any duplicates.”

Steve shots Natasha a smile as he reaches in and grabs a handful of items and starts arranging them on his board. “Told you he’d get you.”

He never tells Bucky when he interrupts Steve or somebody else. That’s something that Bucky can’t do anything about, and it would only embarrass him and make him self-conscious about talking. That’s the last thing Steve wants. It’s not a big deal when Bucky interrupts him, and Steve figures if he treats it as a light-hearted thing, hopefully other people will see it the same way—as opposed to focusing on the weirdness of it.

She shrugs. “I got my answer anyway.”

Steve smiles and focuses on setting up his own board. He pulls out a handful of items and sorts through them. He's got a coiled pipe cleaner, two aluminum foil balls, a muffin cup liner and a cotton ball. He arranges the items on his board, tosses the extra aluminum foil ball back into the bucket and pulls out another handful.

While he’s working on his own board, he keeps a discreet eye on Bucky, making sure he’s doing okay with his own board. Steve usually finishes his set up way before Bucky and he uses the extra time to check his phone or get himself something to drink, but this time he slows his pace to match Bucky’s.

He notices that Natasha’s doing the same. She doesn’t appear to even be looking at Bucky’s board, but she’s taking her time picking items and carefully choosing where to put them on her board.

Steve smiles, feeling incredibly grateful.

They set up the items on their boards. Once everybody tells Bucky they’re ready, he gives the bucket with the extra items a good shake and picks up the tongs.

“We take turns picking objects out of the bucket. You can’t look into the bucket when you’re taking out items, you just reach in with the tongs and pull something out. If you have that item on your board, you take it off your board. Basically you need to get a line of four things cleared from your board to win. Any questions?”

Both Steve and Natasha reach over and rub his hand at the same time. Bucky looks startled and lets out a laugh. “That feels weird. I ain’t used to having more than one person talking to me at the same time.”

Steve lets out a chuckle. Bucky holds the tongs in Natasha’s direction. “Ladies first.”

She takes the tongs, averts her eyes from the bucket and dips the tongs in. She pulls out a piece of sponge.

“Hand it to Buck so he can feel it, Nat.”

Bucky’s hand is already outstretched and Natasha drops the sponge into it. It takes him only seconds to know what it is. “Sponge.”

Steve doesn’t bother telling Bucky that he’s right—it’s been weeks since Bucky messed up any items. He knows exactly what everything in there is. Steve had tossed a handful of spare change into the bucket one day, but when Bucky had felt the coins, he'd demanded to know why the hell Steve was throwing money into their bingo bucket.

"Money ain't playthings, Rogers. Jesus."

Steve had tried to explain that pennies, nickels and dimes were practically useless and stores even had 'leave a penny, take a penny' jars on the counters, but Bucky refused to consider using them as part of the game.

"Money ain't playthings, Rogers. End of discussion."

Steve had realized that Bucky hasn't been exposed to modern-day prices and the huge inflation over the past seventy years, so his attitude is understandable. It's not worth the fight, so Steve is careful to keep his spare change in his wallet or shove it into the tip jars in stores.

Everybody checks their boards and Natasha lets out a quiet “Yay!” that lets Steve know she’s got a piece of sponge on her board. She takes it off and puts it to the side.

Bucky is frowning in concentration, running a gentle finger over his items. “I don’t have a sponge. Anybody got lucky?”

Natasha reaches over and taps his hand. Steve waits until Natasha withdraws her hand, then rubs Bucky’s hand.

“Oh, that’s good. Our guest got lucky on the first turn! Steve, we’re very good hosts.”

They all let out a laugh as Natasha hands the tongs to Steve. Steve is happy that Bucky’s laugh is only a little more strained than it usually is. That’s progress.

As they play, Bucky gradually relaxes, which makes Steve relax a little more too.

Bucky’s probably feeling more comfortable because there isn’t a lot of small talk going on, and the communication required in the game is routine and easy for Bucky to maintain. Plus, it probably helps that they’ve played this game a dozen times before and Steve knows Bucky’s comfortable with it.

He’s playing with more confidence and his smile gets more genuine the longer they play.

Steve struggles to hide his pleased smile and he really, really wants to tell Bucky how proud he is of him—but disrupting Bucky’s focus right now is the last thing he needs.

As Natasha gets accustomed to the game, she doesn’t wait for Bucky to ask if she got another item on her board—she waits until Bucky’s done checking his own board, then she lets him know if she got a match or not, like Steve does.

Their second round goes faster, Natasha matching their pace.

It looks like Bucky will easily win the second round when he clears three squares that are right next to each other in just five turns, but the last item he needs—a piece of cardboard—doesn’t want to be pulled out of the bucket. Four turns go by, with Bucky eagerly reaching out for the pulled item, only to make a disappointed face when he closes his hand around it and realizes it’s not cardboard.

When Steve pulls out the next item—a marble—Bucky grabs it and lets out a cheer. “Finally! Cardboard. Yay, I win.”

Steve snorts and reaches over to rub the back of Bucky’s hand. “Buck, are you drunk? That’s not a piece of cardboard and you know it.”

Bucky pulls his hand away from Steve, clutching the marble. “You’re wrong, Rogers. This _is_ cardboard. Definitely.” He’s got a smirk on his face and it’s clear he’s struggling not to burst out laughing.

Steve lightly stomps on his foot under the table.

Bucky kicks his foot. “Don’t get violent with me just cause I’m right and you’re wrong. Let’s ask our guest—Nat is this cardboard?”

Steve already knows that Natasha has a piece of cardboard on her own board, so he isn’t surprised when she reaches over and confidently taps Bucky on the hand. “Hey! Romanov! It’s bad enough that Barnes is trying to cheat—now you’re joining him?”

Natasha is laughing at him. She throws her hands up. “It’s not my fault you’re blind, Rogers. That’s obviously a piece of car—.”

“Guess I’m right and you’re wrong, Steven.” Bucky shoots a triumphant smirk Steve’s way.

Bucky reaches down, ready to pluck his piece of cardboard off his board when Steve beats him to it, swiping the piece of cardboard off his board.

“You can’t win unless you can show the winning pieces.”

“Hey.” Bucky’s smirk dissolves into a glare as he feels around the edge of his board. “Rogers, you’re cheating.”

“Oh, I’m cheating? _I’m_ cheating?” Steve reaches over with the hand not holding the cardboard and tells him he’s the cheating jerk.

Bucky grins and grabs hold of Steve’s spelling hand and follows it to Steve’s chest, trying to get to the hand holding the cardboard. Steve leans back in his chair with a laugh, keeping his hand away from Bucky.

“Rogers, give me back my winning piece, you cheat.” Bucky says, laughing and straddling Steve on the chair as he tries to catch his wandering hand.

Natasha’s laughing at both of them, making no move to lend a helping hand to either of them.

When Bucky nearly catches his hand a few times, Steve stuffs the cardboard piece down his shirt and lets Bucky catch his empty hand.

Bucky’s trying to make his glare look very menacing but the effect is ruined by his smile as he explores Steve’s empty hand. “Give it back, you cheating scum.”

“Oh, I’m the cheating scum?” Steve lets out a laugh and tells Bucky he’s the cheating scum, not Steve.

Bucky pretends to look shocked and smacks Steve in the chest. “Me? The poor cripple? Steven Grant Rogers, I’m shocked at you.”

Steve laughs. He tells him he’s no good, cheating scum. He repeats the ‘no good’ and the ‘cheating’ twice more to emphasize his point.

Bucky is trying to look scandalized, but he can’t help the smile that’s tugging on his lips. Steve smacks Bucky’s hip. That makes the smile spread over Bucky’s face.

“So you’re sticking with that, huh? You think little old me is trying to cheat?”

Tap, tap, tap.

Bucky lets out a laugh. “Fine! If that’s the way you want it—you caught me. _Maybe_ you pulled something other than cardboard out of the bucket. _Maybe_. I can’t help it if poor blind me makes mistakes.”

Steve laughs and pinches Bucky’s side. Bucky lets out a surprised shout and nearly topples off Steve’s lap. Steve keeps him steady and reaches into his shirt to pull out the piece of cardboard. He presses it into Bucky’s hand.

“Thank you, Rogers. Now we can get back to playing. So does this mean I didn’t win?”

Steve lets out another laugh. “No, Barnes, you didn’t.” He rubs the back of Bucky’s hand, spells out ‘J-E-R-K’ and then smacks his ass. “Now get off my lap and get—.”

 “You live to make my life difficult, don’t you?” Bucky lightly pinches Steve’s cheek.

Tap. Steve confirms that’s his job.

Bucky laughs and climbs off Steve. He carefully makes his way back into his chair and puts the cardboard piece back on his board.

That’s when Steve remembers they have company and he clears his throat, feeling a blush creep over his cheeks. “Sorry, Nat. We’re not used to having company.”

She’s got a soft smile on her face. “No, it’s nice to see. And I have cardboard on my board too, so I was rooting for Bucky to win.”

He shakes his head, trying to look appalled. “I’m shocked at both of you.” He picks up the marble that’s been rolling around the table and forces it into Bucky’s hand.

Bucky smirks when he feels what it is. “So you wanna do this again? Alright, I’ll do it your way. Nat, it seems that Rogers ain’t willing to give a poor blind man any slack. He wants this to be a marble, so let’s do it his way.”

Steve rolls his eyes as Natasha laughs.

When they’re done playing bingo, Bucky and Steve put the game away and ask if Natasha wants to watch a show with them.

She glances at Steve and waits for his nod before she’s tapping Bucky’s hand. She stays seated until Bucky’s sitting on the couch and gesturing for Natasha to sit on his left. It hasn’t escaped Steve’s notice that she’s only moved from her seat when she knew that Bucky was settled somewhere.

Steve knows it doesn’t have anything to do with her feeling uncomfortable. She wants to make sure her presence isn’t interfering with Bucky’s movements around the apartment.

She notices his soft smile on her way to the couch. “What are you smiling at, Rogers?”

“You being awesome.”

“Quit being sappy and come sit down. What are we watching?”

Steve sits on Bucky’s right side so he can spell on his hand. “You got any preferences?”

She scoffs. “You know I rarely get to watch TV or movies. As long as it’s something fun and light, I’m happy.”

Perfect. That means they can watch the episode of the cooking competition they recorded last night. It’s half way through the show’s season so Bucky’s familiar with all the contestants and the structure of the show.

Steve fumbles with the remote, waking up the television and finding the right episode. While he gets things set up, he squeezes Bucky’s knee with his free hand. He realizes he needs to tell Natasha a bit about the show. “We’ve been watching this cooking competition. There’s a series of challenges each episode and each ep—”

“So we were thinking of watching this cooking competition show that we’ve been following. The people on it do some challenges each episodes—team challenges or individual things—and at the end of the episode one person is eliminated,” Bucky says. He shots a smile in Natasha’s direction while he’s talking.

Damn it! Steve did it _again_!

Natasha is smiling and shaking her head at Steve. “That was 100% your fault, Rogers. You didn’t tell Bucky that you were gonna explain things to me, so he had to step in.”

Steve is starting to get very annoyed with himself. Jesus, Rogers! It’s not so hard to keep Bucky in the loop. “Yup. I agree with you. Shit!”

She leans forward and gently touches Bucky’s hand. She thanks him for the explanation and tells him she’s looking forward to watching the show. Then she leans forward even more, trying to catch Steve’s eyes. “Hey, Rogers. Look at me.”

Steve is busy glaring at the television. He glances at her. “What?”

“We’re all doing the best we can right now. We’re all having fun and Bucky’s getting more comfortable. That’s what’s most important, right? We’ll all learn from this and figure out how to make things better. I should have told Bucky I was going to the bathroom earlier. See? We’ve all made some mistakes so far. Relax. Bucky’s doing great and you’re doing great. Now start the show.”

Steve takes a slow breath—he’s trying very hard to keep his body language from telling Bucky that he’s annoyed. He needs Bucky focused on listening to what Steve is saying.

Steve focuses back on the television. “Ready?” he asks Natasha. At the same time, he spells the word on Bucky’s palm, followed by a question mark. They both agree, so Steve starts the episode.

He fast forwards through the recap from the last episode. First up is a team challenge. The two individuals who had cooked the best dishes in the previous episode are the captains.

Steve uses abbreviations for the contestant names and the different challenges and fills in Bucky on what’s happening.

Steve spells out C-A-P-T-A-I-N-S and spells out the abbreviated names of the two contestants.

“Veronica and Pino are the captains.”

Tap.

C-A-P.

V-E-R.

P-I-C-K-S.

S-A-R.

“Veronica picks Sarah. That’s a good choice.”

Steve tells him Pino picked Terry.

“Pino picked Terry. Really? They’re both hot heads. That’s not gonna work well.”

Tap, tap, tap.

C-A-P.

V-E-R.

P-I-C-K-S.

M-I-C-H.

“Veronica picks Michael. He’s worked with Sarah before didn’t he? That’ll work. Good choice!”

Tap.

They move through the team selections, then Steve explains who the teams are cooking for, and off they go.

Steve watches the action and tells Bucky how each team is progressing. He lets him know when he’s switching between Team Veronica and Team Pino, and whether the team is doing well or something has gone wrong.

Natasha is looking back and forth between the television and Steve’s hand. He has no doubt she’s carefully tracking exactly what he’s saying. It’s actually making him a little nervous—he’s not used to somebody else being part of their conversation.

They get through the team challenge and Team Veronica is declared the winner. Their main course had been a big hit and gets them the win, despite the team burning their soup base and being left with only a tiny kale salad to serve as appetizer.

Bucky’s smirking when Steve tells him who the winner is. “Good thing everybody liked that salad, huh?”

Steve laughs and taps his hand. “No kidding.”

Steve reaches for the remote and fast forwards through a commercial. The elimination challenge is next. The members of Team Pino have to bake a tower of cream puffs. The actual name is something French and complicated which Steve wouldn’t be able to spell without looking up, and he’d have to repeat it a bunch of times for Bucky anyway, so he keeps things simple and calls it a cream puff tower the first time, and then just ‘tower’ the rest of the time.

While the camera cuts to various contestants expressing dismay over the challenge dish, Steve reminds Bucky who the four contestants are who will be doing the elimination challenge.

They get started.

T-E-R.

IS.

N-E-R-V-O-U-S.

“Terry’s nervous. Already? That’s not good.”

Steve tells him Terry has knocked his bowl of batter off the counter.

“Shit! Terry has to redo his batter. That’ll lose him time.”

Tap.

There’s a shot of Team Veronica on the balcony, expressing their dismay over Terry’s mistake, which leads into a commercial break.

Natasha sits up.

“Hey, can I try?”

Steve glances at her. “Try what?”

“Can I try translating?”

“That’s the wrong word, Nat,” Steve says, not taking his eyes off the screen. “Translating is for written things. This is interpreting.”

She lets out a laugh. “Well, excuse me, Mister Dictionary. Let me rephrase: Can I try interpreting?”

Steve smirks at her, then considers what she’d asked. He can’t help the worried frown that crosses his face. “You sure?”

“I’ve been watching you. I think I can do it. You think Bucky would mind us switching?”

Steve pauses the show and gives her a challenging smile. “If you think you can handle it, go ahead and ask him.” She doesn’t know the new abbreviations they’ve made up, but he thinks she’ll be able to keep up without them.

And there’s always the pause button.

She pulls Bucky’s hand out of Steve’s grasp and asks him if she can try.

Bucky’s frowning. “Try what?”

She spells some more words, but her hand is blocking his view of Bucky's palm so Steve can’t keep up. That’s okay—he isn’t the one who needs to be keeping up.

Bucky’s frown immediately turns into a smile. “Sure.”

Steve gets up and switches spots with Natasha. Steve nods his chin at the remote. “You know where the pause button is, right?”

She smirks at him. “I won’t need it, thanks.”

“You say that now. Wait until the dying seconds of the challenge when you’ve got things going wrong for everybody.”

“Just sit down, Rogers. Barnes and I—”

“You can pause the show if it’s too fast,” Bucky says kindly, smiling in her direction.

Steve bursts out laughing. “Looks like you’ll have to prove us both wrong, Nat.”

She raises her chin and smooths her hand over Bucky’s palm. “Press play, Rogers.”

He hits play and fast forwards the action until the show returns.

Natasha effortlessly keeps up with the action, telling Bucky about Terry’s new problem: he hadn’t made enough batter on his second try and as a result, he won’t have enough puffs for his tower. Then Pino burns his caramel sauce. The other two contestants are doing alright so Natasha only occasionally lets Bucky know that they’re still doing okay.

When the judges announce there’s 30 minutes left, Steve tells Natasha how to inform Bucky of the time limit. As the four contestants start assembling their tower, the action gets more intense, switching between the contestants faster. A few times Natasha has to use a commercial break to catch up, but she never gets so far behind that she needs the show paused.

Steve spends more time watching Natasha’s hand than the television, his head gently propped on Bucky’s left shoulder, reading her words right along with Bucky. She only messes up once—getting a contestant’s name wrong. Bucky has no idea she made a mistake, but Steve’s keeping half an eye on the television so he catches it.

Steve helps straighten it out. “That was Jess, not Sarah, Nat. They were talking _to_ Sarah, but everyone’s talking _about_ Jess. Don’t mention Sarah at all.”

“Right, shoot. Can you pause?”

Steve dutifully pauses the show and waits while Natasha erases her previous statement on Bucky’s hand and corrects herself. She spells out an apology but Bucky pulls his hand away in the middle of her spelling and waves it off.

“Don’t worry about it. I mess up all the time. Take your time. It’s okay to pause the show if you need to. Steve pauses baseball games all the time.”

That was her only stumble. As the challenge is coming to a close, Steve sits up. “Okay, start doing a ten second count down.”

“It’s not that time yet.”

“Trust me, by the time you’ve set it up and done it, you’ll be on pace with the show.” Since Natasha isn’t familiar with their new number system, Steve tells her step-by-step what to spell out.

T-I-M-E.

L-E-F-T.

Number sign.

She taps the tip of Bucky’s thumb once. 1.

She taps the tip of his pinky finger twice. 0.

S-E-C.

Bucky nods. “10 seconds left.”

The time ticks down, both on Bucky’s hand and on the television. The action slows as each contestant brings their baked creation to the front for tasting.

The judges call up Terry first. “How much detail do I pass on about the judging, Steve?” Natasha asks.

“I usually give him the most important positive thing and the most important negative thing. Those are usually the facts that decide who the winners are and who ends up in the bottom two.”

Terry’s tower is much smaller than the other towers, but that’s something they’ve all been aware of since Terry hadn’t made enough of the pastry batter in the first place.

Steve leans on Bucky’s shoulder, watching Natasha spelling. Steve’s so proud of both Natasha and Bucky. He presses a soft kiss to Bucky’s cheek.

“The taste was good, so Terry’s only problem is the tower’s too small. Maybe Pino’s tower tastes worse because of the burnt—” Bucky breaks off mid-sentence and turns towards Steve. “Rogers, I love you, but I’m trying to focus here. I can’t have you distracting me like that. Jesus!” Bucky’s smiling while he says it.

Natasha lets out a laugh and reaches behind Bucky to smack Steve over the head. “Yes, Rogers, have some respect. Bucky and I are busy talking—you can’t just barge into a conversation like that.”

Steve laughs. “Sorry, sorry. I’ll be on better behavior, I promise.” He squeezes Bucky’s knee in apology.

Bucky’s smiling in his direction and he presses a quick kiss to Steve’s face. It lands right under Steve’s eye. “There! That’ll have to last you until we have more privacy.” He turns back to Natasha. “I’m so sorry for that rude kid, Nat. I swear, I raised him better than that.”

She laughs and they resume discussing the judging taking place.

Steve goes back to leaning against Bucky’s shoulder, watching their easy back-and-forth. It’s clear they’re both getting comfortable being around each other.

Steve can’t seem to stop smiling. Things are much better than when Natasha had stepped through the door.

It’s not a surprise that the final elimination is between Terry and Pino.

T-E-R.

I-S.

S-A-F-E.

“Terry’s safe. Yay! I like that guy.”

She tells him Pino is eliminated.

“And Pino’s out. Well, what can you expect if you burn your caramel sauce? I’m glad I didn’t have to taste that tower.”

Steve stretches and presses a kiss to Bucky’s cheek. He grabs the remote from Natasha and deletes the episode. Dropping the remote, he squeezes Natasha’s knee.

“Good job, Romanov. I’m really impressed. A bit jealous, actually. Took me days to get that fast.”

Natasha shrugs off the praise. “You made the system, I just followed along.” But she’s got a little smile on her face, pleased.

Steve lets his arm drop around Bucky’s shoulder and pulls him into Steve’s side. He squeezes Bucky’s hand and tells him he did a good job.

“Thanks, Rogers. That was a good episode. I’m glad Terry’s safe.”

Steve tells him he agrees.

Bucky’s cuddling into Steve’s chest. He looks pleased with himself, but he looks tired. Steve knows how hard today was for him.

Steve looks over at Natasha and sees her smiling at both of them. “You’ve got something weird on your face, Nat. Might be something dangerous, I’m not sure. The corners of your lips are being pulled up in weird way.”

She rolls her eyes. “Very funny.”

Steve smiles. “That’s me.”

Natasha stretches and makes herself more comfortable on the couch. “I’ve known you for five years, and I’ve seen you smile and laugh more today than in the entire five years. And the only other time I’ve ever seen Barnes smile or laugh was in those videos at the Smithsonian.”

Steve rubs Bucky’s arm and slouches against the back of the couch, letting Bucky get more comfortable. “We’ve always done better when we’re together. Always.”

“Some things never change, huh?”

“Well, I kinda like this new Three Musketeers situation.”

She grins. “Me too.”

Steve’s about to ask Bucky what he thinks, when Bucky reaches his arm out in Natasha’s direction. “Nat, did you like the episode?”

She grabs his hand and taps it.

“Oh, good. You’re welcome to come over anytime you want. I love having this big lug all to myself but variety is good too.”

She squeezes his hand.

Steve smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed Natasha's first visit!


	30. Chapter 30

Bucky carefully brings his lunch plate into the kitchen. He’s trying it without the cane, which is always nerve wracking, but much more convenient. He’s getting more comfortable walking around the apartment without his cane—but doing it when he’s carrying something is much tougher. He can’t use his hand to properly orient himself, so he’s come up with other tricks.

He walks right into the side of the counter and shuffles sideways, keeping his stomach pressed into the counter and following it along, letting the edge of the counter guide him. When the counter turns, Bucky turns with it.

He holds the plate in his hand and touches the back of his hand along the counter, feeling for the sink.

When he feels the cold metal, he gently moves his hand around until he feels Steve’s plate waiting beside the sink. He puts his plate on top of Steve’s, then makes his way back to the table for his cutlery.

When all the dirty dishes are next to the sink, he does the dishes and wipes up the counter.

He’s passing Steve at the table, when he feels his shirt being snagged.

“Yeah?”

His hand is smoothed out.

Steve tells him they need to talk about something serious.

“Okay.” He feels for the chair next to Steve and pulls it out. He drops his hand on Steve’s thigh, waiting for him to start talking.

Steve asks him if he wants a new arm.

What?

For a second, Bucky thinks he misunderstood.

New arm? What the hell is wrong with his arm?

“Is my arm not meeting your standards anymore?” he chuckles.

Rub, rub, rub.

Steve clarifies that he’s talking about his left arm.

Bucky abruptly stops laughing. “Are you serious? I can get my left arm back?”

Steve doesn’t respond right away. Then he spells out ‘kind of’.

“What the hell does that mean? I can either get an arm or not. It’s not complicated.”

Steve disagrees, telling him that yes, it _is_ complicated.

Bucky sighs softly. “Okay, so it _is_ complicated. We’re not talking about the Hydra arm are we? I don’t want that thing back.”

Rub, rub, rub.

“Okay, good. So getting a new arm is complicated. Why?”

Steve hesitates again. Then he tells him there are multiple options.

Bucky feels a bit off kilter with the direction of this entire conversation. He’s gotten used to not having his left arm—he does miss it, sure, and it’s damn inconvenient only having one arm at times—but compared to having a piece of Hydra attached to him, he’d rather go without an arm.

He’s been so happy to be rid of the Hydra arm, and he’s been so busy learning how to do things without his left arm that he’s completely forgotten to consider other options.

“Alright. I wanna hear about the options. Let’s have the first one.”

S-T-A-R-K.

For a second, Bucky doesn’t know what he’s talking about, but as soon as the meaning sinks in, he rips his hand away from Steve’s fingers.

“Rogers, I told you when we were on the run that I don’t ever wanna hear that name again. I don’t care how smart the guy is and what kind of arm he can give me—I want nothing to do with him ever again. You hear me? Anybody who’s not brainwashed and tries to kill you is on my shit list for life.”

Steve catches his hand and squeezes it.

Bucky pulls his hand back. “If that’s my only option for a new arm, forget about it. I’d rather give up my other arm than deal with him. Got it?”

Tap, tap, tap.

“Okay. Moving on.” Bucky takes a deep breath. “Do we have other options?”

Tap.

“Alright. Let’s discuss those other options.”

Thankfully, Steve moves the conversation right along.

He explains that Bucky could wear a prosthetic arm that’s attached to a harness.

“Harness? Why can’t they just implant something like Hydra did?”

Steve asks him if he’d rather have surgery.

Oh. He hadn’t thought that through. “No, no, I don’t. This harness would be removable?”

Tap, tap.

He likes that. He already has so many things he has to wear constantly to feel safe—his cane, the motion detector receiver, his watch. The fewer permanent gadgets are attached to him, the better.

Besides, having an arm permanently attached would remind him too much of the Hydra arm. He’s not a walking weapon anymore and he doesn’t want a bunch of technology attached to him permanently.

“Okay, so go ahead and order it and you can teach me how to put it on.”

Rub, rub, rub.

Steve tells him he’d need a doctor’s help.

Bucky makes a face. “Really? We can’t do it ourselves?”

Rub, rub, rub.

Well—he trusts that Steve has done enough research to know what he’s talking about. If Steve says they’d need outside help, then there’s no alternative.

He thinks it over.

Going to a strange doctor would be stressful, and he knows he probably won’t get away with only going once. Most of his enthusiasm for this entire process disappears.

But if he gets a second arm—especially a second hand!—then it’s worth it.

But how would that even work? The only reason the Hydra arm worked like a real arm is because it was attached to his spine and nerves.

He asks Steve to explain how removable arms would work—how exactly they’re attached, how he’d be able to move them, how many times they’d have to go to a doctor. Steve explains slowly, moving through each of the options and answering all of Bucky’s questions.

Moving the arms sounds very complicated, no matter which option he goes with. But again, if he could get a functional left hand out of it…

“So I could learn how to move the left arm, right? Does the left hand have sensors?”

Rub.

Oh. Well, that changes everything. If the new hand can’t feel anything, how the hell would Bucky know if he managed to pick something up? How the hell could he hear Steve if he spells on that hand?

The remainder of his enthusiasm for the whole idea disappears completely.

“Stevie, it’s okay. It seems like way more fuss than it’s worth right now. I don’t like the idea of going to a doctor and if I can’t feel what the hand is doing, then I’d need to use my right hand to check on it. Honestly, my right hand is too busy doing things to bother with that right now.”

Steve is hesitating.

Finally he asks Bucky if he’s sure.

He is.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure. Things are going really well and I’m doing fine without my left arm. I get annoyed with some things, but everything you said makes it seem like I’d be a lot more annoyed with a new arm than without it. Let’s forget about it for now. If I change my mind, I’ll let you know.”

*             *             *

For some reason, he’s really horny today. Steve is usually the more…active one out of the two of them—at least, after he got the serum—but as Bucky’s body calms and adjusts to his new life, he notices he’s in the mood more frequently.

Today is no exception. Steve had fucked him twice this morning, but after dinner, Bucky is ready to go again. He’s barely thought about anything naughty, and he’s already half-hard.

He knows Steve’s busy sketching and he’s debating whether to head to bed and have some alone time, but he’s in one of those moods where he really, really wants Steve to touch him. He goes back and forth about it for a while, until he finally decides to see how engrossed Steve is in his sketch. To be on the safe side, he slips the bottle of slick into his sweatpants pocket on his way to the couch.

Sitting down on the couch, he carefully slides closer to Steve, not wanting to jostle him. “Stevie? You gonna be done sketching soon? Or is it gonna take a while?”

He feels Steve grab his hand and tells him he’s almost done.

“Okay.”

He’s on Steve’s left side, so he slides closer to him without worrying that he’ll interfere with his sketching hand, pulls his legs up on the couch and rests his chin on Steve’s shoulder. Just the thought of Steve touching him soon makes his cock twitch. He knows if he puts his hand on himself, he’s gonna go off in no time, so he compromises by spreading his knees and sliding closer to Steve, pressing his aching cock against Steve’s hip.

His sweatpants tighten around his hips and he lets out a soft whine at the delicious friction pressing against his cock. He gently rolls his hips, rubbing his cock against Steve, sparks of arousal shooting through him.

Realizing he’s probably making all kinds of distracting noises which he can’t hear, he snaps his mouth shut and presses his face against Steve’s shoulder.

It feels so good, but he really wants Steve to touch him soon, so he hopes the punk will finish his sketching quickly.

He feels Steve shifting—which unfortunately shifts his hip away from Bucky’s cock—but then Steve’s laying his hand flat on his thigh and asking him if Steve can help him with something.

Bucky smiles and keeps his face pressed to Steve’s shoulder, shifting closer to Steve again until he’s grinding against his hip again. “I don’t wanna rush you, but I’ve got a bit of a situation here.”

A hand suddenly squeezes his cock through his pants, making Bucky gasp and twitch. Then that naughty hand is gone and it’s spelling out more letters.

Steve agrees with him. Bucky’s definitely got a situation going on. Does he want help with it?

Bucky grins and feels across Steve’s lap for his sketchpad. He tugs it out of his grasp and tosses it next to Steve on the couch, then finds his pencil in his right hand and tosses it on the coffee table. Now that Steve’s lap is clear, Bucky straddles him, sliding close to him so his cock is rubbing against Steve’s belly.

“Oh, that’s better. You’re already helping and you barely did anything. That’s how talented you are.”

Bucky’s got his hand on Steve’s shoulder, gripping his shirt, but Steve pulls the hand down so he can talk to him. He asks him what he wants.

“I want your hands on me.”

Mouth too? Steve asks.

“Yeah, but not on my cock. I wanna feel you everywhere.”

While having Steve’s mouth on his cock is one of his favourite things in the world, the downside is that while Steve’s doing that, most of Steve is down by his dick and his legs and Bucky sometimes feels too alone that way.

Steve keeps asking him questions.

Fast or slow?

“Slow. Stretch it out.”

Slick?

“In my pocket.”

Then Bucky feels Steve’s hand sliding around his hip and smacking his ass. That means: get up and get your pants off, Barnes.

Bucky stumbles to his feet, pulls out the slick—which he drops onto Steve’s lap—and then pulls his pants and underwear down before he climbs back onto Steve’s lap. His cock is thrilled to be released from the confines of the clothes and he slides closer to Steve, clamping his thighs tightly against his legs and rubbing his cock against Steve’s soft shirt-covered stomach.

He moans happily at the pleasant arousal curling in his belly and buries his face in Steve’s neck. He feels Steve shifting around—probably getting his hand lubed up. Then Steve’s arm is curling around Bucky’s back and gently pulling his chin away from his shoulder. Steve keeps his arm wrapped around him and his fingers on Bucky’s chin as he tugs him in for a kiss.

Bucky feels himself relax, loving the feeling of Steve pressed against his front and wrapped around his back. He can feel Steve getting hard too and he presses himself harder against him, rubbing against his cock and his belly. Steve is all around him and this is exactly what he wanted.

He presses his lips to Steve’s and feels Steve’s tongue licking at the seam of his lips, urging them to open. Steve tilts Bucky’s chin and when he parts his lips, Steve’s tongue slides in, kissing him slowly and thoroughly.

Bucky’s starting to wonder where Steve’s other hand is, when he feels a slippery and warm hand wrap around his cock and start to stroke him. The hand knows exactly what he likes. It pulls in a long, tight stroke up to the head and the thumb swipes over his sensitive head, making a shiver run up Bucky’s back and gasp into Steve’s mouth.

Steve keeps up the slow pace, tangling his tongue with Bucky’s, and keeping him pressed close.

Eventually he stops stroking Bucky’s entire cock and focuses on the head, alternating gentle squeezes with his thumb rubbing his fluid into his slit. Slowly, he increases the pace, squeezing and rubbing harder and faster.

“Jesus,” Bucky gasps into Steve’s mouth.

His arousal builds, his body is trembling harder and he’s having an impossible time kissing Steve instead of just moaning and gasping against his lips.

Then Steve stops, abandoning Bucky’s cock head to firmly grasp the base of his cock and prevent him from coming.

Bucky whines at the interruption and a hard twitch makes his entire body jerk. Steve tightens his grip on him, keeping him steady on his lap.

He pulls his lips back from Bucky and uses the arm across his back to press Bucky’s face against his shoulder. Bucky can feel Steve’s lips moving against his temple.

Bucky gradually calms until he knows he’s not seconds away from coming anymore. He doesn’t bother telling Steve—he knows Steve can tell.

He feels Steve shifting beneath him and then Steve’s hard cock is pressing against Bucky’s. He must have pulled it out from his pants.

Bucky smiles. “There you are.” He thrusts against Steve’s cock, feeling that Steve has slicked his cock with lube. He reaches down to grab their cocks, but his hand is grabbed along the way and brought back to Steve’s shoulder, where his fingers are curled into Steve’s shirt.

Bucky chuckles. “Okay, fine. But you better get back to what you were doing, Rogers. I did say stretch it out, but I didn’t mean I want it to—”

Then a finger is pressed against his lips, shushing him.

Alright, fine.

He drops his head back on Steve’s shoulder and presses his face against his neck. He realizes his hips have been grinding him against Steve’s cock and belly and he presses himself more firmly against Steve’s front.

Steve wraps one arm around his back again, winding his arm across his entire back so he’s covered by Steve. It feels wonderful.

Then Steve gets back to work, but this time, he slides a slick hand down Bucky’s ass, along his crack and circles his hole.

“Oh, fuck,” Bucky gasps into Steve’s neck, jumping a little at the unexpected contact, and then immediately pushes back against the circling finger.

Steve presses the pad of his finger against his hole, the rim barely giving way beneath the gentle push. He uses his other arm to pull Bucky forward, encouraging him to thrust in a specific rhythm. Bucky falls into it right away.

Forward against Steve’s cock, and backwards against Steve’s finger.

Steve presses kisses against Bucky’s neck and brings his lips to Bucky’s ear, saying wonderful things to him.

As Bucky’s arousal builds again, Steve’s finger finally slides in, pumping in and out in time with the rhythm Bucky’s hips are making. Another finger slides in soon after, stretching Bucky and making him whine.

It feels so good and he spreads his legs wider so he can thrust back against Steve’s fingers. “I want another,” he mumbles into Steve’s neck.

A third finger slides into his hole, stretching the sensitive rim, and then Steve curls his fingers and brushes over Bucky’s prostate, sending sparks racing up his spine.

“Oh, fuck! Fucking, Jesus Christ, oh!”

He feels Steve’s cock twitch against his, fluid dripping down his cock, and it’s unbelievably arousing to know that he has no idea whose cock it came from.

He’s panting into Steve’s neck and he’s so hard, his cock is aching. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.”

A kiss is pressed to his neck, and then the arm that Steve had wrapped around his back disappears and it wedges itself between their bodies and grabs their cocks, squeezing and rubbing the leaking heads, pressing them together.

Then Steve abruptly increases the rhythm of the fingers in his ass, rubbing his prostate hard—and that’s it, Bucky’s body seizes up and he’s coming.

He can feel Steve’s cock twitching and his fingers in his ass lose their rhythm as he comes too.

Steve’s hand on their cocks slows, gently rubbing and pulling as they shot cum all over their shirts. Bucky’s gasping so hard against Steve’s neck that his skin is moist from his breath, and his entire body is twitching and trembling. He can feel Steve’s chest rising and falling as he gets his breath back too, and he’s shaking just as badly as Bucky is.

“Oh, that was good. Jesus, Rogers, that was good,” Bucky mumbles. He has no idea if Steve can understand what he’s saying, but the fact that he’s a twitching, limp mess must be a clear enough indication.

He feels Steve’s fingers slip free from his ass and then Steve is wrapping his arms around him, pulling him close. Bucky makes a face at the mess that’s covering their shirts, but the second he’s got Steve wrapped all around him, he no longer cares.

“I love you so damn much, you know that?” he mumbles into his neck.

He feels Steve kiss his neck and his shoulder and then tighten his arms around him.

That means he can stay here for as long as he wants, which is perfect.

*             *             *

A week later, they’re sitting at the table after lunch, playing [Ludo](https://www.maxiaids.com/ludo-wooden-board-game). Steve bought the game board from one of his favourite accessible items online stores, which came with playing pieces and a wooden raised-dot dice. It’s got little soft fabric dots glued to each face to signify the number of dots.

It’s the first game they’re playing using a dice so Steve is excited to see how it’ll go.

The game is pretty simple. They each have a set of playing pieces, which are all on pegs. Each playing piece actually feels the same so Steve has glued different types of fabric on the flat tops, that way Bucky can differentiate between them. The pieces start in their own ‘starting’ area and with the roll of the dice, the pieces are advanced one by one along the holes in the board. The pieces have to be moved all the way around the board until they reach their designated ‘home’ area. The tricky part is deciding which playing piece to move, since landing on an opponent’s piece means that opponent’s piece is tossed back to the starting area. That’s a big deal since the objective of the game is to move all your pieces into your ‘home’ area before your opponent does.

“Okay, are you ready?” Bucky asks, holding his hand out.

“Yup.” Steve taps Bucky’s hand.

Bucky feels along the table for the wooden dice. He finds it and gives it a good shake in his hand and gives it an enthusiastic toss…

…and it bounces across the table, past their juice boxes and right off the edge of the table onto the floor.

Steve bursts out laughing. Why hadn’t he seen that coming?

Bucky is feeling along the surface of the table for the dice, and starts frowning when he can’t find it. “Where did it go?” As he gets more annoyed, his exploring hand gets rougher and he knocks over his juice box.

“Buck! Care—”

“Shit, my juice!” Bucky straightens up the juice box and feels around if he’d spilled any. A little has leaked out from the straw so Bucky reaches over for a napkin and wipes it up. Then he’s back to looking for the dice.

“Buck, it’s on the floor,” Steve says, reaching over and grabbing Bucky’s hand and telling him what happened.

“Oh. Damn! I must have rolled it too hard. Can you get it for me, please? It’ll take me forever to find it. I’ll try again.”

Steve ducks under the table, grabs the dice and puts it into Bucky’s outstretched hand.

Bucky tries again, giving the dice just a little shake in the palm of his hand and letting it roll off his hand.

This time the dice rolls off the table and into his lap.

The dice it too light for Bucky to feel where it landed, so he starts searching for it on the table.

The earlier hilarity of the situation has passed and Steve no longer finds it funny. He needs to fix this as quickly as possible or Bucky’s going to be mad at himself for taking so long.

“Buck, it’s on your lap, buddy.” He reaches forward, grabs Bucky’s exploring hand and tells him where it is. Bucky gets that annoyed frown on his face that lets Steve know he isn’t happy with his performance so far.

Steve gives Bucky’s hand a squeeze. He tells him he’ll get a tray from the kitchen and Bucky can roll on that.

“Okay.” Bucky finds the dice while Steve goes to get the tray and sets it up close to Bucky’s hand. Bucky traces the rimmed edge of the tray, making sure he knows how big it is.

He picks up the dice, gives it a gentle shake and lets it rolls off his hand and land on the tray.

“Perfect, Buck!”

Bucky immediately finds the dice and grins. “Yay! That’s better. The tray idea is a good one, Stevie.” He’s feeling the top face of the dice, trying to count the fabric dots.

Steve can see it’s a ‘four’ from where he’s sitting, but he waits patiently until Bucky finishes exploring the surface. “Is it a four?”

Steve grins and leans forward to tap his hand. “You bet. Good job, Buck.”

Bucky carefully finds his pegs in their starting area, pulls the first one out of its hole and carefully advances it four holes.

“Okay, done. Your turn.”

Steve rolls the dice. He’s got a two. He leans forward to ask Bucky how he wants to proceed. “You wanna read the dice or you want me to tell you what I got?”

“Just tell me. I’ll practice reading the dice on my turn.”

Steve tells him he got a two and he moves his own playing piece forward.

Things go well for a few more turns, until one of the fabric dots comes off while Bucky’s trying to read the dice. “What the hell? I swear there were five dots a second ago. Steve, did one of the dots come off or did I hallucinate a fifth one?”

Steve leans over to take a look, and no, Bucky’s not imagining things. One of the fuzzy dots is lying on the tray. “Shit. Great quality, huh?” He tells Bucky the dot’s come off.

Bucky makes a face. “Great quality, huh?”

Steve chuckles and taps Bucky’s hand. He tells Bucky he’ll just tell him what the dice says when it’s his turn. He’ll look for better dice later. “But first I’m gonna write a very disappointed review on the website. Three stars only. There’s no way to tell the playing pieces apart, and then the tactile dots come off the dice when someone is tactile with it. That’s stupid.” He thinks it over while he does his turn. “You know what? I might even give it two stars.”

They play for a while, getting used to the playing surface and dealing with the dice.

When Bucky gets more comfortable, he starts to relax and spends time exploring the board and figuring out where Steve’s pieces are. It’s time for strategy.

The next time Bucky rolls, he ends up getting a five. He spends time figuring out which of his pieces he wants to move. When he’s selected one, he grabs it, pulls it out and loudly counts out five spaces…

…but ends up moving seven spaces.

“Hey! Buck, that’s too many.” Steve leans forward and rubs the back of Bucky’s hand where’s he’s pressing the piece into the wrong hole.

“What? That’s wrong? That ain’t wrong. I counted five holes. You saying I can’t count, Rogers?” But he’s got a smirk on his face while he says it, so Steve kicks him under the table.

“Jerk.”

Bucky laughs. “You’re wrong, Rogers. I was right, I’m sure. Your turn. Hurry up.”

Steve kicks him under the table again, grabs Bucky’s hand and tells him he isn’t going to play with a cheater.

Bucky laughs harder. “Fine. Fine, accuse the disabled man of being a cheater. That’s fine.” He moves his piece back two spaces. “There. Satisfied?”

Steve spells out ‘never with you’ and then grabs the dice off the tray to do his own turn while Bucky keeps laughing.

Steve gets his revenge when he lies to Bucky and tells him he’s rolled a six. Bucky doesn’t get suspicious the first time he does it…nor the second time…but when Steve tells him he got a six for the third turn in a row, Bucky gets that narrow-eyed suspicious look on his face.

“Wait a second. There’s no way you got three sixes in a row! Let me see that dice!”

He gropes around the table, trying to find the dice. Steve lunges for it and frantically tries to turn it so the six is facing up, but Bucky finds him first.

“You cheater! Are you trying to change the dice? Jesus Christ, Mrs. R, look at what your son is doing! This is outrageous!”

Steve bursts out laughing and tightens his grip around the dice where Bucky’s trying to pry it out of his grasp.

Bucky lets go and comes around the table. He finds Steve’s arm and gives it a light smack. He’s grinning and trying not to laugh.

“Always such a cheater, Rogers!”

Steve lets Bucky pry the dice out of his hand and pulls Bucky down on his lap. He takes the dice from him so he can spell on his hand. “I ain’t the one who started with the cheating today.”

Bucky starts laughing and presses his forehead against Steve’s. “That’s true. It’s all my fault. Ms. R, it was all my doing. I’m a bad influence on this kid.”

Steve grins and wraps his arms around Bucky. He nudges his nose with his own and gives him a kiss. “You’re definitely an influence on me, that’s for sure.”

Bucky sighs happily and kisses him back. “I love you, you know that?”

Steve taps him on the back. He takes Bucky’s hand and presses Bucky’s fingers against his lips so Bucky can feel him respond. “I love you, Buck.”

Bucky smiles happily, as he always does when he can hear Steve talking.

That’s when the intercom buzzes.

Steve pulls back from Bucky and frowns. It’s shortly after lunch on a Friday. He’s not waiting for any deliveries and Natasha is away on a mission.

The intercom shouldn’t be buzzing.

A cold shudder races through him as dread creeps in.

The last time they had an unexpected visitor in the middle of the day, Bucky had been hauled away by APS and they had gone through 24 hours of fear and confusion.

Bucky must sense the change in Steve’s body language, because he pulls back with a frown. “You okay? What happened? You drop the dice?”

Like he had done the last time this had happened, Steve spells out ‘I-N-T-E-R-C-O-M’ on Bucky’s palm.

“Okay. It’s not grocery delivery day. What did you order?”

When Steve spells out ‘nothing’, the smile slides off Bucky’s face and he gets pale and tense. Steve can see the fear creeping over him.

The intercom buzzes again.

“Are—are you expecting somebody?”

Steve clenches his jaw tight, trying not to freak out. He rubs Bucky’s hand.

They sit there, frozen and scared, a million scenarios racing through their heads. Steve’s first instinct is to run, run, run—but that’s stupid.

He could probably get out of the apartment building undetected and make a run for it—but there’s no way Buck could keep up.

Running away isn’t an option.

He wants to reassure Bucky that nobody will take him away again, that nobody will make him do anything he doesn’t want to do—

But Steve learned last time that those are promises he might not be able to keep, so it’s better not to make them.

When the intercom buzzes for the third time, Steve realizes that whoever is on the other end isn’t going away. And sitting here won’t get them any answers. Buck can’t figure out who’s there, so Steve has to do it.

He has to be brave and get off his ass and deal with the situation.

He gives Bucky a hard kiss and gently pushes him off his lap. Bucky goes to sit in his own chair, quiet and scared. He knows Steve has to figure out who is on the other end of the buzzer before they can figure out how to proceed.

Steve gets up, tries to control the fear clogging his throat and sends up a desperate prayer—please, please, please, make it be the wrong apartment. Or a sales person. Or a neighbor who locked themselves out. He’ll go back to church every Sunday rain or shine—just please, please, Lord, don’t make this be about Buck. It can be about himself, that’s fine, but not Buck. Leave him alone. Please.

Please, please, _please_.

He presses the button on the intercom. “Hel—hello? Who—who is it?”

But as has been the pattern since his ma got sick, Steve’s prayers are turned inside out and shoved back in his face.

“This is Major Cheng from SHIELD. We’re here to do the testing on James Barnes.”


	31. Chapter 31

“This is Major Cheng from SHIELD. We’re here to do the testing on James Barnes.”

_What?_

None of those words make sense to Steve.

The words ‘SHIELD’ and ‘James Barnes’ should never have to be in the same sentence ever again.

That’s the bargain that Bucky had made with them: they take his sight and hearing, and he’s a free man and will never have to deal with SHIELD again.

And now…SHIELD is here…and they want to talk to Bucky?

Maybe…maybe that’s _not_ the bargain that Bucky made with them?

Steve fumbles to press the button again. “What—why—why do you need Barnes?”

“We’re here to do the testing, Captain Rogers. If you don’t let us in, we have the right to force our way in. Come on. Don’t make a scene in this lovely neighborhood of yours.” The Major sounds bored.

Steve’s mind is racing.

He has no doubt that they’ll force their way into the building if he doesn’t let me them in.

Not letting them in is stupid. It would lead to a busted door that the landlord will make Steve pay to fix, it’ll scare everybody else in their building, and it’s not like he can hide Buck away in the few minutes it’ll take them to break down the door.

He squeezes his eyes shut. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_!” He presses the button. “Okay, come in.”

He presses the button to open the front door.

His next priority is letting Bucky know what’s going on.

Well, Steve has no idea what’s actually going on, but he knows who’s here.

He hurries up to Bucky.

Bucky startles when Steve touches his hand so suddenly but he’s already holding his hand out, his jaw tight, ready to tackle whatever lies before them.

“It’s SHIELD, Buck.”

“SHIELD? For you?”

Steve rubs his hand.

“For me? Did they say I’m under arrest?” Bucky’s eyes are wide with fear and he’s tense.

Steve quickly rubs his hand. “No, no. They said—they said—”

There’s hard knocking on their front door. “Open up, Captain Rogers. Let’s go. The quicker we get in, the less of a scene we make in your hallway.”

“Just a second!” Steve yells towards the door. “I’m not wearing pants!”

Steve turns back to Bucky. He’s struggling to recall exactly what the Major had said. They didn’t say they were here to arrest Bucky…

He’d said something about…testing?

Right!

Testing.

Steve has no idea what that means, but it’s better than ‘arresting’.

He tells Bucky they’re here to do testing.

He knows Bucky’s fear will be partially replaced by confusion. He’ll ask a million questions which Steve doesn’t have the answers to. He’ll be scared and confused and Steve—

But that’s not what Bucky does.

In fact, Bucky’s reaction is the complete opposite.

The tension and fear immediately drain from Bucky and his lips curl into a little smile. He looks relieved. “Oh! Oh, good, I thought it was something bad. It’s about time, huh? I thought they’d come months ago.”

Steve blinks at him.

For the second time in five minutes, Steve doesn’t understand the words he’s hearing.

Nothing about Bucky’s body language or the words he’d said make any sense to Steve.

There’s more knocking and he hears the Major curse. “It doesn’t take this long to put on pants, Rogers. Let’s go! I have other things to do today.”

Steve is still staring at Bucky, who is relaxing against his chair and seems content with the entire situation.

What the hell?!

What. The. _Hell_?!

Steve stumbles over to the door and opens it. He can see Bucky shift slightly when he feels the motion sensor on his arm vibrate. He knows they’re about to have company.

Major Cheng is the first in the door, followed by six other SHIELD security personnel. All of them are wearing full tactical gear and they fill the apartment like black clouds, squeezing in between their furniture and surrounding Bucky, automatic weapons pointed at him.

That makes Steve angry. “What the hell is going on? You have no right to barge in here, especially dressed in full tactical gear!”

Major Cheng looks bored with the situation. “We’re just following security protocol, Captain. They aren’t going to shoot unless Barnes gets violent. We’ll try to restrain in non-lethal ways, but we have the authority to use any means necessary to contain him if he loses control.”

“Loses control?!”

Steve glances at Bucky, who’s sitting quietly and patiently in his chair, their Ludo game and juice boxes spread out on the table before him. Bucky’s put his hand on the table surface, in clear view and he’s not moving a muscle, but Steve can tell that he’s not scared.

He’s a little nervous, but not scared.

Steve wishes he understood why. It’s clear that Bucky knows more about this situation than Steve does.

It’s clear that everybody in the room knows more about this situation than Steve does.

And that’s terrifying.

Once Major Cheng has verified that everybody is standing where they should be, he sticks his head out the door. “We’re ready. Come in, doctor.”

A young African-American man comes into the room. He looks terrified and he’s clutching a metal case in his hand. He looks ready to pass out.

He’s staring at Bucky as if Bucky’s a rapid dog about to lunge at him.

Steve doesn’t like having a doctor in their apartment. The last time doctors touched Bucky, they took his sight and hearing from him. He steps in between the doctor and Bucky. “Major, you’re gonna explain to me what the hell is going on, and you’re gonna explain right now.”

Cheng gives him a bored look. “I told you: we’re here to do the testing.” He says the words very slowly like he’s talking to somebody who can’t understand English.

“I heard you the first time and I still don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. What testing? You have no legal right to barge in here like this. We haven’t done anything wrong and Buck—Barnes is a free man.”

Cheng frowns at him. “He’s a free man, yeah, as long as he fulfill the conditions of his release.”

Steve blinks at him. “ _Conditions_? What conditions?”

Cheng is frowning at him even harder. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Rogers? It was all in the agreement that Barnes signed. You know that.”

“All he agreed to was doing the surgery in exchange for his freedom. That’s it.”

Cheng looks unimpressed. “Uh, no. That’s not ‘it’. There was a lot more in that agreement. And I know that’s the one he signed because I watched him sign it.”

Steve lifts his chin. “I wanna see this agreement. I’ve never seen it.”

Cheng shrugs. “That’s not my problem. Barnes signed it and my assignment on this lovely day is to ensure he fulfills one of the conditions he agreed to. If Barnes didn’t keep a copy or didn’t tell you about it, that’s your problem.”

Steve shifts so he’s standing between Cheng and Bucky. The doctor hasn’t moved a muscle so he’s not the immediate threat. “You’re not gonna touch him until I’ve seen this paperwork, because I know it’s baloney. This is some kind of stupid attempt from SHIELD to intimidate me to go back to work.”

The doctor’s eyes widen at Steve’s tone and he takes refuge behind Cheng, nearly trampling Steve and Bucky’s shoes by the front door. He’s looking back and forth between Cheng and Steve, trying to get an indication of what he should do next.

Steve points at him. “You better stay where you are, doc, or we’re gonna have problems.”

At his threat, Steve hears the sound of the safety’s being flicked off on several automatic weapons.

Right.

He’s forgotten about the rest of his visitors.

“Rogers, don’t be stupid. This isn’t a trick. SHIELD doesn’t have time for shit like that. Just—”

That’s when Bucky’s decided that the prolonged period of inactivity is probably due to Steve arguing with their visitors.

“Steve, are you arguing with them? Please, stop. Come here, please. It’s okay, gentleman—and ladies, if there are ladies here—I’m going to keep my hand on the table. I’m just gonna talk to Steve for a second. He’s gonna spell on my hand, but you’ll be able to see what he’s doing the entire time.” Bucky stretches his arm out further on the table, pushing the Ludo board back. His hand is flat against the table, his palm facing upwards.

“Steve, please come here. Walk slowly and don’t give them any reason to separate us, okay? Please? Just come here and we’ll talk about this.”

Steve can’t believe—he _can’t believe_ —that Bucky’s being so calm about this.

He walks up to Bucky, but when he touches Bucky’s shoulder to offer some comfort, Bucky pulls back. “Just spell on my hand, okay? Don’t touch me. That’ll make them nervous.”

Steve tells him SHIELD is here because of some baloney story.

Bucky gives him a little smile. “Did they say they’re here to do the testing?”

Tap.

“That’s fine. No baloney there. It was in the papers, remember?”

“That ain’t in the papers, Buck!” He spells that on Bucky’s hand. He knows he’s pressing his fingers much harder into his palm than necessary, but he’s really irritated now.

Bucky frowns and he’s quiet for a moment, thinking things over. “Yeah. Yeah, it was. Along with the other stuff. Did—didn’t they give you a copy?”

Now Steve’s not just annoyed, he’s getting angry.

It seems he’s the idiot here.

“No, Buck,” he says through clenched teeth. He rubs Bucky’s hand roughly. “No, nobody gave me any papers and you never said there was more to it than ‘procedure-for-freedom’!”

Bucky’s confused frown turns into an apologetic look. “I—I’m sorry, sweetheart. I assumed you got a copy. Anyway, I’ll explain later. Right now, let these good people do the testing, okay?”

Steve rubs his hand. That’s not happening. There’s no way. “No, Buck. I ain’t just gonna let them—”

Bucky shakes his head. “No, Steve, it’s gonna happen. It has to happen. And it’s gonna happen now. If you keep resisting and fussing, they’ll take me away and make me do the testing in a facility. Please. Please, Steve, I don’t wanna go to a facility. I wanna stay here at home and I just wanna get it over with.”

Steve feels angry and on the verge of tears. This can’t be happening.

He wants to spell out ‘I won’t let them hurt you’, but remembers at the last second that he can’t make that promise. Major Cheng has the authority to do whatever he wants in this situation, and Steve is powerless to stop him.

Instead, he spells out: ‘I don’t want them hurting you.’

Bucky gives him a smile. “It ain’t gonna hurt, I promise. They did this at the hospital. They’re just gonna put some machines on me and nothing’s gonna happen. That’s the point—nothing’s gonna happen and it’ll be done in a few minutes and then they’ll go away.”

Bucky sounds so certain about all this. So completely certain.

Like he’d signed _a bunch of complex documents_ which detailed this procedure—and _never told Steve about it!_

Bucky smiles gently. “I promise, everything will be okay. We can talk about this when it’s done, okay? Doctor? Please proceed. I’m ready.”

The doctor tentatively steps out from behind Cheng and approaches Bucky. He stares at the table covered in stuff. “I—I need some space.”

“Jesus Christ,” Steve grits out and gets to work packing up the Ludo game board and the dice tray. He puts their juice boxes into the fridge and throws out the napkin Bucky had used to wipe up his juice spill. That seems like it happened a million years ago.

When the table’s clear, the doctor puts his case on it and starts pulling out equipment.

The doctor seems to be fine while unpacking his stuff, but when he pulls out dozens of wired electrode stickers, he peers back at Cheng, looking terrified.

“I—I have to put these on him.”

Before Cheng can say something stupid, Steve speaks up. “Let me tell him what’s going on.”

Steve doesn’t wait for permission, he steps around the doctor to Bucky’s other side and gently touches his hand and tells him the doctor needs to attach some wires.

“Where are the wires going?” Steve asks.

“On his head.”

He tells Bucky the doctor will be attaching stickers to his face and head. There will be wires hanging from the stickers. Bucky nods, still calm. “Okay, go ahead, sir.”

Bucky doesn’t ask what the wires will be measuring. Maybe he already knows—but Steve doesn’t know. “What are these things gonna measure?”

The doctor looks nervous at having to answer so many questions. “Uh, brainwave activity.”

Steve is confused. Why the hell does SHIELD care about Bucky’s brain activity?

The doctor’s hands are shaking as he approaches Bucky, but he manages to stick the electrodes to Bucky’s forehead. There are over a dozen electrodes and Bucky’s forehead and head are soon covered. Bucky stays absolutely still and his hand is motionless on the table.

He probably knows he’s surrounded by many, many weapons.

The doctor continues setting things up, turning on machines and pressing various buttons. He turns on a display and Steve sees a picture of a wavy lines moving across the screen.

Those must be Bucky’s brainwaves.

“Will any of this hurt him?” Steve asks the doctor.

“No. I’m just going to check his auditory and visual reception capabilities.”

Steve blinks. The pieces are starting to come together.

Bucky hadn’t just agreed to the procedure—he’d agreed to get tested to ensure he didn’t use technology or surgery to undo the vision loss or the hearing loss.

The doctor tells Steve that he’s going to slide a pair of glasses onto Bucky’s face and put some headphones over his ears. Steve shakes himself out of his thoughts and tells Bucky what’s going to happen.

The glasses are heavy, dark goggle things, and the headphones are thick and padded. They’re put on Bucky’s head, and then the doctor fusses with his machines.

The scrolling waves on the brain activity monitor peak a bit when the headphones and glasses are placed on Bucky—that’s probably Bucky reacting involuntarily to the changes going on around him.

The peaks flatten a little bit as Bucky gets used to the new devices attached to him.

They all stand there, staring back and forth between Bucky and the machine that’s displaying his brain function. Once the readings have stabilized, the doctor starts pushing various buttons.

The testing is starting.

Steve has no idea what the doctor is doing, until he starts hearing loud music coming out of the headphones. The music gradually gets louder and louder until Steve can hear it as clearly as if the sound was coming from the television.

If Steve were listening to something with headphones and the volume were that loud, his ears would be ringing for days.

Bucky doesn’t react, and the brain waves scrolling past the screen remain stable.

When the sound is finally turned off, the doctor starts doing something else on his machines. Steve can’t see or hear any changes, and Bucky isn’t reacting, nor are his brain waves changing.

“What are you doing?” Steve asks.

The doctor motions towards the glasses on Bucky’s face. “I’m providing visual stimuli.”

“What if he’s closing his eyes?” Cheng demands.

The doctor shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. I’m moving through different wavelengths of light and different brightness. Even if he squeezes his eyes closed, the brightness would penetrate his eyelids.” The doctor nods his chin at the screen showing Bucky’s brain waves. “We’d be able to see even the smallest stimuli reception.”

Steve now fully understands what’s going on and he stares at the monitor more than he’s looking at Bucky.

He knows that Bucky can’t see or hear any of things the doctor is trying to stimulate his brain with, but he wants to make sure SHIELD isn’t trying to pull some baloney like alter the readings.

The readings remain stable, Bucky stays still, and the doctor is gradually starting to relax.

Steve’s careful not to touch Bucky. He realizes Bucky probably insisted on Steve staying away from him because Bucky would react to any physical touch he feels. Bucky wants to do everything possible to keep those readings stable.

A few more minutes go by, and Steve hears more noise from the headphones. This time, it’s loud beeps and chirps and sharp piercing ringing that gets louder and louder. It’s eventually loud enough to make his own ears ring—and their neighbors are probably very annoyed—but Steve doesn’t move from Bucky’s side. He knows Bucky probably can’t feel him standing there, but Steve thinks Bucky must know Steve is somewhere nearby.

Steve’s feeling completely helpless, and standing as close to Bucky as Bucky allows is the only thing he has control over.

Then the doctor is doing something else, and Steve can see bright light leaking out from the sides of the goggles Bucky’s wearing. It’s bright enough to make Steve blink. He can’t imagine what it must look like on the other side of those glasses.

Then the piercing, high-pitched whistle is turned back on.

Bucky’s being bombarded with an immense amount of light and sound.

It seems that the doctor is taking no chances that he’ll be accused of going easy on Bucky.

If Bucky were able to see or hear anything at all, this would be torture.

But the waves on the monitor remain completely stable, and Bucky is still and relaxed, breathing normally, his hand lying open and relaxed on the table.

For Bucky, nothing has changed since the headphones and goggles were put on his head. He just knows he has to keep quietly sitting there in the dark and silence until the equipment is removed.

Good job, Buck. You’re doing such a good job, Steve thinks.

Finally, the doctor seems satisfied. “Okay, we’re done.” He seems much more comfortable around Bucky now that he’s verified for himself that Bucky can’t be triggered into a lethal rage by any sounds or sights.

He removes the goggles and headphones and starts peeling the electrodes off Bucky’s face and head.

Bucky startles a bit at the unexpected contact and Steve wants to grouse at the idiot for not letting him warn Bucky—but he wants these people out of here as soon as possible, so he keeps his mouth shut.

“Did everything record?” Cheng asks. “I don’t have time to come back if you messed up, doc.”

The doctor nods. “Don’t worry, everything’s recorded.”

“Good. Get your stuff packed and we’ll move out.”

The doctor finishes packing, closes his case and heads out the door. Cheng gives the order to move out and the SHIELD agents file out the door.

Cheng pauses before stepping out the door. “Next time, just let us do our work without the bullshit, and we’ll be out of your hair much quicker, Rogers. Jesus.”

“Get the hell out of our home,” Steve responds. He waits until Cheng has stepped through the door and he slams it after him, locking it securely.

He turns away from the door and stares at Bucky.

He’s still motionless, doing nothing except blinking and breathing. Steve knows he felt the motion sensor on his arm vibrate, but he’s not daring to ask questions or make assumptions about whether they’re alone or not.

Steve hurries over to him. “It’s okay, Buck. You did it. They’re gone.” He quickly spells that out on Bucky’s hand.

Bucky still looks unsure about moving. “We’re alone? It’s done?”

Steve taps on his hand. “Yeah, Buck. It’s done.”

“How—how did I do? Did it go okay? They didn’t try to fool the readings?”

Steve shakes his head. He rubs Bucky’s hand. “No, everything went well.”

“I didn’t have any reaction?”

“No. Not to the light or the sound. Just when he put the headphones and the glasses on you.”

With a deep sigh, Bucky seems to melt against his chair. It seems that his earlier relaxed posture was an act. “Oh, thank God. I was so worried that me being scared would register on the thing. I was trying to keep myself relaxed. You remember I told you about those exercises they taught me for sniper training? I was doing that. Oh, Jesus, I can’t believe it’s over.”

He gropes for Steve, and that’s when the fear of the entire situation floods back for Steve.

They could have taken Bucky away. If they didn’t like the readings, or if they thought Bucky wasn’t being cooperative, they could have taken Bucky away. They could have locked him up for who knows how long.

Steve has no idea what terms Bucky had agreed to in those papers, but he’s sure Bucky’s complete cooperation was non-negotiable.

He kneels down before Bucky and pulls him into his arms. Bucky wraps his arm around him and buries his face in Steve’s neck.

They’re both shaking and overwhelmed with what had just happened.

“You—you did so good, Buck. I’m so proud of you,” Steve mumbles, his throat tight. He’s too overwhelmed to spell right now, but he thinks Bucky knows what he’s saying.

“We’re okay now, Stevie. They won’t be back for a while. Well—I don’t actually know that. They could be back tomorrow if they want, but we did good today. You were brave and I was brave and it’s done.”

They cling to each other, trying to absorb strength and comfort from each other.

“Steve, I’m sorry you didn’t know about the testing. I—”

Steve reaches up and presses his fingers against Bucky’s lips. They’re going to talk about that, but Steve’s not in the mood right now.

Right now, he’s just relieved that they’re both safe and they survived another attempt to separate them.

*             *             *

Steve focuses on calming down for the rest of the day. He makes them ice cream sundaes and asks Bucky if he wants to finish playing Ludo or if he wants to do something else.

Bucky tells him he wants to finish playing Ludo. He doesn’t want to associate the game with bad memories, and he wants to do something that makes him use his mind.

“Otherwise my hands are busy doing things and my head’s still worrying over what happened and when they’ll be back. I wanna take my mind off it.”

But neither of them want to finish playing at the table, so they curl up in bed together with the wooden board and the tray for dice rolling.

They manage to distract themselves until it’s time to head to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: It's time for Steve to find himself a copy of 'those papers'. He won't be too pleased with what they say.


	32. Chapter 32

By the next morning, both of them are feeling less vulnerable and their fear has receded, which means Steve is just left with his earlier annoyance.

Bucky signed a complex agreement dictating the terms of his freedom…

…and Steve has no idea what it says.

He calls Natasha, but as he’s listening to her phone endlessly ring, he remembers that she’s away on a mission.

He debates texting her and asking her to get him a copy of the agreement, but realizes she might not get the message for several days.

So he decides to go right to the source.

He knows he won’t be able to get General Ross on the phone directly, so he’s gonna have to be sneaky.

He calls SHIELD instead.

He gets passed from one receptionist to another—all of them claiming that they can’t help him.

Whenever he gets put on hold, he hangs up and calls back.

He eventually annoys them enough that they pass him through to his former—current?—supervisor, Everett Ross.

Everett starts the conversation by asking Steve when he’s coming back to work, but Steve ignores the question and tells him he wants a copy of the agreement which Bucky had signed.

Everett tells him what Steve already knows—that the information is classified and General Ross is the one who has access to it.

“That’s fine. Call him and tell him to send me a copy. I want it within 24 hours.”

“Captain, you are in no position to be making—”

“I’ll get the media involved in this, and even without the classified details, all they have to know is that SHIELD is making life difficult for a disabled man. You don’t need that kind of bad press, do you?”

Everett is silent for a moment. “Stay by the phone.”

Five minutes later, Steve’s phone rings with a number he doesn’t recognize.

“Hello?”

“Captain. Ross tells me you wanted to speak to me. I hope you realize that I’m being exceptionally accommodating just by making this phone call.”

None of those things were phrased as questions.

Steve hates this man.

Like he’d done with Everett, Steve just bulldozes right past his comments. “I want a copy of the agreement James Barnes signed before his procedure.”

“That agreement is between James Barnes and the American government. Since you are neither of these entities, you have no legal right to have that information.”

“But Barnes does, and Barnes doesn’t have a copy.”

“Mr. Barnes is free to file a request to get a copy.”

Steve clenches his jaw. “And his request will float from one office’s paper pile to another for six months before somebody ‘loses’ it. I want a copy of the contract and I want it right now. Barnes has a right to have it.”

“It’s not my fault he didn’t ask for a copy before—”

Steve is really starting to lose his temper. “Before you made him deaf and blind? No—funny enough, he had other things on his mind at the time!”

Ross sighs. “Like I said, Captain, you have no legal right to see that document.”

“I’m Barnes’ caregiver, that gives me legal right.”

“Do you have the necessary documentation backing that up?”

No, Steve doesn’t. But he doesn’t need it. “I’ll go to the media. I’ll tell them SHIELD is depriving a disabled man’s caregiver access to important documents that the disabled man needs.”

“If you share classified—”

“There won’t be anything classified in what I tell the press. I don’t need any of that to make the story huge. As soon as people hear ‘deafblind’ and ‘SHIELD depriving’, the outcry will start. I won’t even have to tell the press Barnes’ name.”

“You can’t threaten—”

Steve wants to strangle him. “All I want is a copy of that agreement, Ross! That’s it. Once I have it, I’ll go back to being quiet and obedient, I promise.”

Ross sighs heavily, like he’s about to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders on Steve’s behalf. “Fine, you’ll have a copy delivered to your apartment within the hour. I won’t tolerate your threats again, Captain. If you lose this copy, you’re on your own.”

Steve hangs up before he can say something that’ll make Ross change his mind.

He doesn’t tell Bucky about the conversation or that the contract is on its way. He carefully stays out of Bucky’s reach so he can’t tell how wound-up Steve is.

Steve wants to read the papers before Bucky has the chance to spin it one way or another.

As promised, within the hour, the intercom is buzzing.

Steve lets the delivery man into the building, but refuses to open the door. He doesn’t want Bucky realizing that someone’s arrived.

“Slide it under the door and leave.”

“Oh—okay. But can you sign my form? They said—”

Steve sighs. “Sure. Slide it through.”

He signs the paper that’s slid through, passes it back.

“Uh, I’m supposed to look at some ID, sir.”

Steve grumbles and goes to get his wallet. He digs out his driver’s licence and shoves it under the door.

Steve hears a click that sounds like the kid is taking a picture of the ID, then it’s passed back under the door.

Finally a large envelope is pushed under the door.

“Great. Thank you,” Steve says, snatching it off the floor.

“Have a nice day, sir.”

Steve sits on the couch with the envelope.

Bucky’s busy at the table, making tactile cards they can use to play Memory. He’s gluing different types of fabric and other materials to cardboard cards, making a pair for each texture.

Steve knows he’ll be pre-occupied for a while, so Steve has time to read the contract.

First he checks if Bucky really signed it.

If he didn’t—

But no, there’s Bucky’s signature. It looks more scribbly and vague than Steve has seen in the past—but Bucky not having held a pen for almost a year and being about to lose his sight and hearing probably had a big impact.

Steve flips back to the first page and starts reading. He notices they used Bucky’s full name and his real date of birth.

Damn it.

It turns out that Bucky has agreed to multiple conditions in order to remain a free man.

First and foremost, he had agreed to undergo a medical procedure to completely remove his sight and hearing in order to ensure he is no longer a ‘threat to public safety’.

That’s the part Steve already knows.

The rest is new to him.

Bucky has to willingly participate in testing, which will take place to verify he hasn’t undergone any procedures to undo the dual sensory loss. If it’s discovered that Bucky underwent, or attempted to undergo any of those procedures, he’ll be locked up for an ‘indeterminate length of time’.

Meaning ‘the rest of Bucky’s life’.

There is a full page detailing what’s included in these ‘procedures’ which Bucky could undergo, but Steve skips it. He realizes now that any of those measures aren’t just irrelevant for them, but they would be putting Bucky’s freedom and his life at risk.

The testing will be done at random times and the government and SHIELD are not required to provide any warning. Bucky must make himself available whenever testing is required—no exceptions.

Steve’s eyebrows rise when they go on to clarify that the ‘no exceptions’ really means no exceptions. Whether Bucky is hospitalized, incarcerated or dealing with a life-threatening situation—he must complete the testing when it’s required.

Bucky has to notify SHIELD where he’s living and he has to give written notice if he’s going to be somewhere other than his primary residence for longer than 48 hours.

If he violates those conditions, he will be locked up for an ‘indeterminate length of time’.

That’s the first time that Steve realizes how well SHIELD had timed their testing session. It had been a Friday afternoon and the fact that they were at home at that time was just a coincidence. He and Bucky had been out for a walk during the two Friday afternoons prior to this one, but SHIELD happened to come to their apartment on the Friday when they were at home.

He realizes that SHIELD is probably having an agent tail them on ‘testing’ day to ensure that they’re home when the security detail and the doctor show up.

The thought of SHIELD agents keeping track of their whereabouts makes his skin crawl, but again, he reminds himself that there’s nothing he can do about it.

He goes back to reading the contract before his temper can flare up again.

If Bucky is uncooperative at any time before or during the testing, all future testing will take place at a secure SHIELD facility.

If Bucky is uncooperative while at the secure facility, he will be locked up for an ‘indeterminate length of time’.

There are three pages which detail exactly what ‘uncooperative’ means, but what it boils down to is that Bucky has to be polite, quiet, calm and follow all orders immediately throughout the entire testing. In addition, anybody who is keeping Bucky company during the testing—Steve knows they’re talking about him—will also have to be cooperative.

No wonder Bucky had been so careful yesterday.

And Steve had been a jerk—mouthing off and being rude.

Thank God Bucky had calmed him down.

Steve is quietly hoping that the contract will specify that it’s only valid for a certain length of time. They can’t expect Bucky to abide by these conditions for the rest of his—

—nope, there it is, in black and white.

The contract is valid until Bucky’s death. No exceptions.

Steve notices they’ve sneakily tied the contract to the government, rather than SHIELD. Even if SHIELD doesn’t exist one day, there will probably always be an American government.

Which means Bucky is stuck with this contract for the rest of his life.

Steve is nearly at the end of the contract when there’s an ‘addendum’. It’s a section that doesn’t appear to have been part of the original agreement, but was added later.

He starts reading—and is immediately surprised when he comes across his own name multiple times.

Just like with Bucky, his full name and his real date of birth had been used.

It states that as long as Bucky fulfills the conditions in the contract, the government and SHIELD will grant Steve certain freedoms.

The first is a re-hashing of the immunity deal which Steve had signed. Bucky’s cooperation will allow Steve to remain free from prosecution in regards to the whole Winter Soldier ‘situation’.

But there’s more. As long as Bucky remains cooperative, the decision whether to continue being employed by SHIELD lies with Steve, and Steve alone. In addition, SHIELD is not allowed to contact Steve unless there is an emergency which directly involves Steve, or if there’s a situation that concerns Bucky, or if Steve initiates contact. There’s a small statement clarifying that SHIELD can contact Steve to ask him about his employment status with SHIELD, but nothing else.

Steve thinks back and realizes that this is why SHIELD has been leaving him alone for these past few months. He’s been expecting his phone to be ringing constantly and for SHIELD to find and flood the personal email account he’d set up.

He hasn’t had much time or desire to think about SHIELD since Bucky had come home, but now he realizes why they’ve been keeping their distance.

It’s not out of respect, it’s because they’re legally obligated to do so.

Because Bucky’s been fulfilling his conditions perfectly for every second of every day since he’s been released.

Bucky has willingly tied himself to SHIELD and the government for the rest of his life in order to guarantee that Steve won’t be bothered by _phone calls_.

“Oh, my God, Buck. Why the hell did you sign this? You stupid, stupid moron.”

Steve drops the contract on the coffee table and stares at Bucky, who’s pressing a piece of denim onto one of the cardboard cards.

Seeing him act so casually just annoys Steve further.

“You hear me, you idiot?!”

Bucky doesn’t respond, obviously.

What Steve should do is calm down and talk to Bucky about the contract when he’s not so angry.

But that’s not what he does.

He marches over to Bucky, takes the glue paintbrush out of his hand, wipes his hand off with the moist rag sitting on the table and tells him he read the contract.

Steve can tell Bucky was startled at the sudden contact, and Steve’s roughness, but as soon as he understands the word ‘C-O-N-T-R-A-C-T’, he gives Steve a little half-smile.

“You did?” Bucky sounds distracted when he says it—like he’s still focused on his stupid cardboard cards. Like he’s congratulating Steve for doing something that’s not very impressive, but Bucky wants to give positive feedback.

That’s not the reaction Steve was hoping for. Steve’s angry and upset, and he wants Bucky to be the same.

Steve taps Bucky’s hand twice. He taps way harder than necessary—they’re more smacks than taps. He doesn’t mean to be so rough with him, but he’s getting angrier the longer he’s faced with Bucky’s casual indifference.

“Oh, good. So you know the testing ain’t optional. But it went okay, didn’t it? It’s fine, Steve. It’s just a little inconvenient.”

“Inconvenient?! You think that’s all this is—inconvenient?!” He doesn’t have the patience to spell that out, so he just spells out ‘you’re an idiot’.

Bucky blinks. He seems surprised and confused by Steve’s reaction.

“Steve, it ain’t that bad. The biggest thing is the testing. You saw how it went yesterday—easy.”

Steve slams his fist on the table. “No, Buck! The biggest fucking thing is that you agreed to the fucking surgery in the first place!”

He spells out ‘surgery’ multiple times. He’s practically digging his fingers into Bucky’s palm, he’s so angry.

He knows he should be using more words, but he’s too upset to spell out the rest.

Bucky had startled at the vibration from Steve slamming on the table, but then he gets distracted deciphering what Steve’s spelling. When he understands what Steve is trying to say, he presses his lips together. “Okay—I guess if that’s how you’re thinking about it.”

Steve stares at him, incredulous. “You—Jesus, Barnes, you giving up your hearing and your sight for the rest of your life ain’t something that’s just a little inconvenient!”

He doesn’t have the patience to spell out any of that. He drops Bucky’s hand and runs his hands through his hair. “Oh, my God, Buck—Buck, _why_ did you sign that thing?!”

Bucky doesn’t respond. He looks anxious and confused because Steve isn’t giving him enough information to work with.

Well, he wouldn’t be anxious and confused if he could still see and hear, would he?

Steve knows he isn’t being fair—and a small part of him is glad Bucky can’t hear what he’s saying—but he’s angry and upset and he has to get it out somehow.

“Well, Buck, that’s what you get for being a—”

Bucky is looking more and more upset. “Steve, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking clearly at the time. I know—” He squeezes his eyes closed. “I know I shouldn’t have agreed to all those things, but honestly, I don’t remember what I signed. Not really. I don’t even remember much about that time. I remember your last visit, and I saw a picture of you on a guard’s phone in the helicopter. I remember I signed a bunch of papers, they said something about future testing, and then I remember feeling the nurse’s necklace and then you told me I was sleeping during the day—I really don’t have many memories of that time. I wasn’t doing well.”

Steve crosses his arms and glares down at him. “Then you should have waited! You fucking idiot—you should have waited for me to come up with something be—”

“Steve? Steve, please talk to me. I can’t—we can’t fix this unless you talk to me.”

Steve wants to punch through a wall. “I _am_ talking to you!” He roars. He can barely breathe he’s so angry.

Bucky looks close to tears. He holds out his hand in Steve’s direction but Steve deliberately steps out of reach. “Steve? Please. I can’t hear you like that. You _know_ that! Please talk to me.”

Steve knows he’s being a huge jerk, and that makes him feel guilty—but unfortunately, the guilt converts into more anger.

He steps up to Bucky, snatches his hand out of the air and spells out ‘you should have waited’ twice.

He’s smacking and poking Bucky’s palm hard with every letter, but he wants Bucky to know how angry he is.

It takes Bucky a second to understand, but when he does, his body stiffens. He rips his hand out of Steve’s grasp. “I _did_ wait! I waited for years for you to help me and you never did!”

That throws Steve for a minute. Is Bucky’s memory from that time so bad that he thinks he was in the Raft for years?!

He spells out ’11 months’, but Bucky yanks his hand back. “I ain’t just counting that time, Rogers, I’m counting the time I sat in a Hydra cell, waiting for you to rescue me! I waited _years_ and you never came! And then I finally rescue myself and I find you, and I get locked up again, and you promise to get me out—and again, you never do!”

Steve feels like he got punched in the face.

All of his angers has drained away so quickly that he feels like he’s going to fall over.

“Buck—”

Bucky’s shaking. “I’m sorry that I finally reached my breaking point. I’m sorry that my fucking head was so screwed up by that point that I thought something dumb was a really great idea. I just wanted to be free—and I didn’t care how it happened or what price I had to pay. I’ve had nothing but shit from the day I got that stupid letter from the draft board, and I was tired! I’ve never done anything wrong and I’ve spent years locked up in cells, alone and scared and miserable! You have—you have no idea what that’s like!”

Bucky’s crying now, tears streaming down his face. He wipes his face and takes a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t thinking clearly and that I signed some stupid paper that you didn’t want me to sign. I’m sorry I can’t be a perfect human after years of being locked up and treated like shit!”

“Buck—”

Steve feels like an idiot. He also feels like a huge jerk.

He knows—he’s always known—that Bucky’s impulsiveness comes from a good place. Whether he decides to sell himself to strangers to pay off Steve’s hospital bill, or he agrees to give up his sight and hearing in exchange for being a free man—James Barnes may not make the best decisions when he’s been pushed past his limits, but he’s always making them for good reasons.

Steve grabs a box of tissues and kneels down in front of Bucky. He brings Bucky’s hand to the box so he can feel the tissues. He lets Bucky wipe his face and blow his nose. He doesn’t know how Bucky would feel about Steve helping him with that right now, so Steve keeps his hands to himself.

Bucky’s drawing in shaky breaths and more tears keep sliding down his cheeks as he tries wiping them away. “I—I—listen, what I said earlier? About me being mad that you didn’t come for me? I know now that you—” His words catch a bit in his throat and swallows hard before he can continue. “—you didn’t know I was alive. I know you would have come for me if you’d known. I don’t want you feeling guilty over that. That’s dumb. I’m just telling you that I’m sick and tired of being locked up and I made a choice.” He sniffs hard and blows his nose again. “I’m gonna have to live with that choice the rest of my life, but I’ve accepted that. I’m okay with it.”

Steve takes the tissues out of Bucky’s grasp and gives his hand a squeeze.

“You swapped one prison for another, Buck. You have to see that.”

He gently spells that on Bucky’s hand.

Bucky’s sniffling and having a hard time catching his breath. “Can you spell the last part again? I wasn’t tracking the letters.”

Steve repeats the last few words, slower this time.

Bucky frowns. “Swapped? No, I didn’t. This ain’t prison, Stevie. I thought it was, but it ain’t. I’m a free man. I get to go wherever I want and do whatever I want. Sure, I gotta follow a few rules, but who doesn’t? I don’t mind the testing. I really don’t. And I’m getting used to living like this. It’s better than being locked up in a cage all by myself. I know you think I’m lonely being like this, but I’m not. When I was locked up, I had my sight and hearing, but they didn’t do me much good. Now, I’ve got so many things going on around me and I’m enjoying life for the first time since the 30s. I’m enjoying it even more now since I don’t gotta get up six days a week at the crack of dawn to go to work.” He manages a little shaky chuckle.

Steve stares at him. He knows how tough Buck is, and he knows Buck’s always had the ability to see the positive in any situation and keep smiling no matter what—but it doesn’t sit well with Steve.

Bucky’s mainly focusing on telling him that he doesn’t mind the testing. He’s barely mentioning the loss of his sight and hearing. Steve knows how hard it is for Bucky to cope with it on some days—like that morning when Bucky had woken from that dream—but on most days there’s no sign of that devastation and intense grief.

Steve gets the feeling that the reason Bucky has those really bad days is because on the other days, he’s not treating the losses like they’re a big deal.

Sam had mentioned to Steve early on that he should expect Bucky to go through a grieving process, but from what Steve can tell, Bucky hasn’t allowed himself to do that. He ignores his grief and treats his hearing and sight loss like something that’s no big deal—and the grief piles up until it takes over on his really bad days.

Steve knows Bucky will have to eventually deal with the loss, but Steve has no idea how to help him do that.

Maybe Bucky would benefit from seeing a therapist?

Those thoughts get put on hold when Bucky finishes wiping his face and sits up. “Listen, Stevie. There’s something else we gotta talk about.”

Steve debates bringing up the thoughts he’s been having, but then decides that they’ve had a tough enough day. He knows Bucky will deny that there’s a problem, and then Steve will get angry again—and they don’t need to have another fight.

So instead of saying what he thinks he should say, Steve taps Bucky’s hand to let him speak instead.

“I know I said I don’t consider this a prison, but I know you do. I didn’t—I was being selfish and I wanted to get outta that cell and I didn’t care what it took. But you didn’t make that decision, and I know this ain’t fair to you. I condemned you to live this new life with me, and that ain’t fair. You can leave whenever you want, sweetheart. I won’t be angry and I’ll understand. Anybody would understand. I’m the one who signed those papers, not you.”

If there were ever any words which would make Steve forget all about the ‘Bucky-seeing-a-therapist’, it’s those words.

Steve sits up and takes the tissue out of Bucky’s hand. Just the thought of Bucky worrying about Steve leaving him is enough to make Steve anxious. “Buck, that’s—that’s—”. He spells out ‘never’.

Bucky smiles sadly. “Don’t say never. Pickertons, remember?”

“Buck, no place that has you and me together could ever be a prison.” He spells that on Bucky’s hand.

“That’s sweet. But I meant what I said. I made that stupid choice, not—”

Steve leans up and presses his fingers to Bucky’s lips. He loves and appreciates that Bucky’s giving him a way out, but Steve doesn’t need one. He doesn’t want one.

He takes his fingers off Bucky’s lips so he can spell on his palm.

“I ain’t mad about the surgery, Buck. I’m mad that you were put into that situation. You’ve had nothing but shit since ‘43, and you deserve so much more than this. I want you to have so much more than this.”

Bucky smiles. “What did Mrs. R always say about wanting things and getting things?

Steve gives him a rueful smile and dutifully spells out: ‘wanting things and getting things are two different things’.

“We’re living proof of that, ain’t we? Your ma was a smart lady and we’ve never gone wrong when we lived by her rules, so we just gotta keep accepting that one. Sure this ain’t what I deserve. It ain’t what you deserve either. But it’s what we got. And I’m happy with it. If you ain’t then—”

Steve presses his fingers against Bucky’s lips again. He pulls off his fingers and replaces them with his lips, giving Bucky a soft kiss.

He gropes for Bucky’s hand and spells out ‘end of the line’.

Bucky smiles against his lips and leans his forehead against Steve’s.

“I’m happy, Stevie. I really am.”

Steve sighs. “Me too, Buck.” He spells that on Bucky’s hand.

It’s true. If he’s going to accept the fact that Bucky handed over his sight and his hearing and won’t ever get them back—which he’s going to have to accept, because there’s no other way to cope with it—then the rest of the conditions in the contract aren’t so bad.

That reminds him of something Bucky had mentioned earlier. Steve pulls back a bit and leans against Bucky’s knees while he spells on his palm.

“Buck, do you know what else is in the contract? Aside from the surgery and the testing?”

Bucky frowns. “No. There’s other stuff? Shit. Is it real bad?”

“Kinda. Depends on how you wanna look at it. You wanna know what it says?”

Bucky nods. “Yeah. Please. You don’t gotta tell me today if you’re upset.”

Steve squeezes his hand. “You got a right to know, Buck.” He asks Bucky if he wants to sit on the couch while they talk about it.

“Yeah, okay.”

Bucky’s still upset and he can’t navigate well when he’s upset, so Steve gently guides him around the coffee table so he doesn’t smack his shins into it. They have a seat and Steve helps him touch the contract, letting him feel the faint lines where he’d signed it and the different sheets of paper. Bucky can’t actually read it, but Steve thinks it’s important that Bucky knows what it looks like.

Then Steve starts the slow process of going through the contract with him. He doesn’t interpret every single word, but he tells Bucky all of the important details.

He can see Bucky’s jaw clench when Steve tells him that his lack of cooperation during testing will force him to go to a SHIELD facility for future testing. “I remember a bit about that. I remember thinking to myself: I gotta remember to tell Steve about it so he don’t make a fuss when they come. Jesus. I messed that up, huh?”

Steve kisses his hand and tells him they’ve both made mistakes when it comes to this stupid piece of document. They’ll just have to accept that and move on.

They skim through the rest of it with Steve interpreting enough of it so Bucky has a clear idea of what he’d signed. When they finish the section regarding Steve, Bucky smiles for the first time. “I remembered some of this. I didn't remember what I made them agree to, but I knew I put you in there. Ross was so mad, but I didn’t give him a choice.”

Steve sighs softly. He squeezes Bucky’s hand, then starts spelling. “I appreciate all those things you put in there, Buck. You didn’t have to—”

Bucky curls his fingers up to stop Steve’s words. “I know I didn’t. But I wanted to. You’re always gonna be my first priority, Stevie. Always.”

Steve kisses Bucky’s knuckles and flattens his hand again so he can keep spelling. “I know, but…maybe can we try making both of us a priority from now on? Doing things that are good for both of us?”

Bucky blinks and thinks it over. “Yeah, I guess that’s something we’ve been working on, ain’t it? Communicating better and being honest about things. Compromising fits right in. Yeah, I can do that. But you gotta do it too!”

Steve nods and taps Bucky’s hand. “I will. I promise.” He squeezes Bucky’s knee and feels himself relax for the first time since he’d read this stupid document. He tells Bucky that they’ve reached the end of the contract.

Bucky nods. Steve can see that he’s tired. They’ve gone over a lot of information, but Steve hated the idea of Bucky being in the dark about it. "Hey, by the way, did you ever tell the government where we live?” Steve doesn’t think Bucky had known Steve's address when he was at the Raft, and he hasn’t had the opportunity to communicate with anybody from the government since the surgery, but he thought he’d ask anyway.

Bucky pauses and frowns. “You know what? I don’t think so. Did you?”

“Nope.”

“Oops. Well, looks like they know where we live anyway, so we’re okay. But for future, if we go travelling anywhere, we gotta let them know, okay?”

Steve taps his hand and pulls Bucky into his arms. “We’ll do that, Barnes. Don’t worry.”

Steve knows now that he’s going to spend the rest of his life helping Bucky fulfill the conditions in that contract. He’s not going to lose Bucky and condemn him to another cell because he couldn’t keep his temper in check or accept that the world is an unfair mess.

They’ll learn to make the contract part of their lives, like they’ve learned to cope with so many other things—Steve’s illnesses, poverty, losing his ma, war, Bucky’s disabilities.

It’s not perfect.

Bucky will probably continue feeling guilty for having forced Steve into this life, no matter how many times Steve tries to reassure him that it’s not Bucky’s actions that bother him—it’s the fact that Bucky shouldn’t have been forced to make such a choice in the first place.

As for Steve, even though his earlier anger has faded, his guilt is now stronger than ever.

It’s not guilt for not finding a solution to the trigger words in time. No, he knows he tried his hardest.

It’s not guilt for not going back for Buck when he fell from the train. No, he knows that nobody had reason to suspect that Bucky had survived that fall—and even if they did, they wouldn’t have found him before Hydra had.

No, those aren’t the things that keep gnawing on his heart and soul every day.

It’s the guilt he feels for not making Bucky go home after Azzano.

Steve’s never dared to remind Bucky about it. He knows that Bucky would agree with him—hell, _everybody_ in the world would agree with him.

Everything bad that’s happened to Bucky Barnes after Steve rescued him from that Hydra prison camp—including this current pile of shit they’re trying to navigate through—is Steve’s fault.

No amount of time, love or effort will ever absolve him of that.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're going to be focusing on Steve in this chapter. The word 'grummy' is a 1930s slang term for 'depressed' or 'sad'. That's a huge hint for what this chapter is about...

Ever since Bucky had realized that Steve often lies to him because it’s easy to do, he spends a lot more time trying to figure out how Steve’s doing.

He doesn’t want to follow him around all the time, and while Steve is always happy to cuddle, Bucky’s more concerned with how he’s feeling when they’re _not_ cuddling.

But Bucky can’t watch Steve from afar or tell by his tone how he’s doing.

He needs to use other cues.

One morning, Bucky notices that Steve is much slower at getting out of bed. Usually Steve gets up within seconds of being awake, but this morning he’s just lying there. Bucky brings his hand up to his watch to check the time—and yes, it’s their normal waking up time. Steve should have bounced out of bed already.

Bucky’s casually drapes his arm over Steve’s chest and he can tell by the way he’s breathing and shifting that he’s awake, but he’s not moving to get up.

While that’s a bit unusual, it’s not a cause for alarm.

But then Steve takes longer to prepare breakfast than normally.

Bucky knows he takes longer, because usually by the time Bucky’s done his stretches, his bike exercise, showered and changed, breakfast is ready.

This time, the table is still bare when Bucky comes out of the bedroom.

He keeps a hand on his watch and it takes Steve seven more minutes until he’s telling Bucky breakfast is ready.

Again—unusual but not very alarming. Maybe Steve got distracted by an email or text from Sam and started cooking late. Maybe Natasha called him.

But usually Steve tells him if any of those things happen…

When they’re done eating, Steve breaks from routine and brings his own plate into the kitchen. Usually clearing the table is Bucky’s responsibility, so that’s strange too.

As the day goes on, Bucky deliberately asks Steve to play lots of games together so he can keep a closer eye on Steve.

As the hours go by, Bucky notices that Steve is slow and unfocused. When Bucky makes a joke, he reaches for Steve very quick and lightly touches his chest…

…and his chest isn’t shaking. He’s not laughing. By the time Bucky’s moved his hand up to Steve’s face, he can feel Steve’s twisted his lips into a smile, but he hadn’t been laughing.

Bucky’s sure if he hadn’t moved his hand to Steve’s chest so quickly then Steve would have faked a laugh or dodged his touch.

He puts down his playing pieces. “Stevie, what’s wrong? I know something’s bothering you.”

Rub, rub, rub.

Bucky waits, hoping that Steve will change his mind and volunteer some information other than the blatant lie he’d just told.

But he doesn’t. Instead, Steve reminds him it’s his turn.

After lunch, Steve again insists on bringing his own plate into the kitchen, and now that’s a worrying sign.

Bucky’s been thinking it over throughout the day. This isn’t the first time that Steve’s been slower and unfocused throughout the day. It happens from time to time, but Bucky had never taken the time to consider that they’re the symptom of a larger problem.

As for Steve insisting on clearing his plates himself—which Bucky also remembers him doing from time to time—that’s an even bigger warning signal.

Probably Steve is using that tactic to hide the fact that he hadn’t eaten much.

So after dinner, Bucky gets himself prepared, and when Steve’s telling him he’s bringing his plate into the kitchen himself, Bucky’s ready.

Lightning quick, he pulls his hand away from Steve’s, shoves his plate over and reaches across the table for Steve’s plate.

When he tugs on it, he feels some resistance.

Damn, the punk managed to grab it.

“Let go. I wanna see how much you’ve eaten.”

Steve’s grasp remains tight, and so does Bucky’s.

“Please, Stevie. Something’s wrong. I know something’s wrong. Let me feel your plate.”

Suddenly, there’s no longer resistance to Bucky’s pull on the plate, and it slides across the table in his grip. He finds his own fork and gently pokes around on Steve’s plate.

It’s practically full.

Bucky lowers his fork and stands up. He comes over to Steve’s side of the table and crouches down beside him.

“Okay, it’s time for you to talk to me, sweetheart. Clearly something’s wrong. You’ve been a bit off all day. Don’t argue with me—I _know_. I’ve been collecting my intel very carefully.” He reaches up and finds Steve’s face. He’s got his elbows propped up on the table and he’s covering his face with his hands.

When Bucky explores his fingers and face more, he can feel moisture beneath his fingers.

Steve’s crying.

Bucky stands up and leans against the table. He gently rubs Steve’s back and pulls Steve against his stomach. He feels Steve wrap his arms around him and bury his face into Bucky’s sweater.

“I’m right here, Stevie. When you’re ready, I’d be real happy if you tell me what’s bothering you. I really wanna help make it better, if I can.”

It takes Steve a while to calm down. Bucky stays where he is, gently rubbing Steve’s back and leaning down to kiss his head.

Finally Steve pulls back. Bucky reaches behind him and gently feels around the table for Steve’s napkin. He’s very happy with himself when he encounters Steve’s glass of water but he’s moving carefully enough not to knock it over. He really doesn’t want to create a distracting mess that he has to clean up. Bucky finds the napkin and gently helps wipe Steve’s face.

“Please talk to me.”

Steve reluctantly tells him he’s not feeling very good.

“Okay. Did you hurt yourself?”

Rub.

The serum shouldn’t allow Stevie to get sick anymore, but Bucky’s already shifting his hand to check Steve’s forehead. Steve catches his hand and kisses it.

Steve tells him it’s not physical. It’s his head that’s not feeling good. No, not his head. His mind. He feels grummy.

“Did something happen with Nat? With Sam? Did APS contact us again?”

Rub, rub, rub.

Steve tells him it has nothing to do with other people.

“Alright, so you’re feeling a bit grummy. That’s okay. Everyone’s got their down days. Let’s just take it easy today and you’ll feel better in a few hours, right?”

Rub, rub, rub.

Steve explains that it’s more than that. He’s not just feeling a little sad, he’s depressed.

Bucky’s feeling lost. To him, all those words (sad, grummy, depressed, down-in-the-dumps) mean the same thing.

“So it’s more than feeling a little glum?”

Tap.

“And it ain’t other people who are making you feel like this?”

Tap.

It’s a struggle to wade through this unfamiliar territory. It’s not the first time Steve’s health has been a mystery to him, but usually it’s something physical. Bucky can help Steve narrow it down and get a defined list of symptoms which he can bring to the doctor.

This is much trickier. He barely knows what questions to ask.

“Right—but if it ain’t other people who are making you sad, then what’s making you feel grummy?”

Rub, rub, rub.

Steve tells him it’s not one specific thing. It started a few years ago when he’d woken up. He’d felt sad and alone and everything had been so confusing. He’d noticed he didn’t have as much energy as before. He would feel tired all the time. There were some days he’d slept for more than twelve hours the night before, but he’d still have to have a nap during the day or he’d fall asleep on his feet. At that point he had found a few activities to do which made him happy, but he stopped enjoying them. He didn’t want to do anything. He felt grummy and bogged down and it was like being stuck in black sludge. Then a few days later, it would abruptly stop.

He’d suddenly feel normal again. He’d have more energy, he’d get joy out of doing his activities, he’d be moving forward again.

Steve says he’s tried different things, but the downswings keep happening. Sometimes he goes weeks or even months without a bad day, and sometimes the low mood lasts for just a few hours, or it can last for days.

Sam told him it’s called depression.

It takes a lot of concentration for Bucky to understand everything Steve is saying. Once he understands, he immediately doesn’t like this depression thing.

He doesn’t like anything that hurts Steve. “How do we make it go away permanently? What do we do?”

Steve tells him it’s not that simple.

He tells him he’d tried taking some medication a few years ago, but none of them had done any good. All he can do is try to keep his brain and body healthy, and that seems to push off the dark periods for longer.

Bucky frowns. “But you said when you’re not feeling well, you don’t got a lot of energy. That makes it harder to keep your body healthy, don’t it?”

Tap, tap.

“So we gotta work real hard to keep your body and your head healthy and happy when you’re having good days, right?”

Tap, tap.

“We can do that. But I’m more worried about the bad days. What can I do to make things better for you on the bad days?”

Steve starts to explain that it’s fine, Bucky doesn’t have to wo—

Bucky pulls his hand out from under Steve’s fingers and rubs the back of Steve’s hand. “Nope, that’s not an option. Try again.”

Steve hesitates for a long time. Then he admits:

He doesn’t know.

“Okay. That’s fine. We’ll figure it out. But you gotta promise you’ll be honest with me when I ask you how you’re doing.”

Tap, tap.

Bucky thinks. He’s been taking care of Steve Rogers for a very long time. He has no doubt he can figure this out.

“Alright, first thing, can you try to eat a bit more, please? Even if you don’t want to, you gotta keep your body healthy and strong, right?”

Steve fusses for a while—which brings Bucky right back to the days when Steve refused to eat while he was sick—and Bucky knows how to handle this.

“How about we pick some easy things from the plate for you to eat? If you really don’t want any of that, I’ll heat up some soup.”

Bucky carefully sifts his fingers through the food on Steve’s plate and separates out about one third of the food. “Okay. Unfortunately, if I try to feed you like I did in the 30s, you’re gonna get more food on your face and your shirt than in your mouth. So you gotta do it on your own, but I’ll stay with you, okay?”

Steve slowly eats his way through the food potion which Bucky had separated out.

Then Bucky brings their plates into the kitchen to be washed later. Steve tells him he’s really tired, and even though it’s much earlier than their usual bedtime, Bucky helps Steve through his bedtime routine and they go to bed.

Steve snuggles up against Bucky as soon as they’re in bed, and Bucky firmly wraps his arm and legs around Steve. He can’t fall asleep like this, but he’s not nearly as tired enough to want to sleep anyway.

He’ll give Steve the comfort he wants and worry about himself later.

Steve shifts a bit and grabs Bucky’s hand. He spells out ‘thank you, Buck’.

Bucky smiles and kisses Steve on the head. “Why are you thanking me? End of the line, idiot.”

*             *             *

Steve’s bad period lasts for another day. Bucky does his best to take care of Steve. He can’t do most of their chores for Steve, but he can convince Steve to put them off until he’s feeling better. He can cuddle and comfort Steve all day, he can coax him into ordering food from a place that’ll bring the food right to their door, and he can encourage him to eat small portions throughout the day which is more manageable when he’s not feeling hungry.

They make it through, and Bucky can only hope that the next bad period is far away.

*             *             *

Bucky’s sitting on the couch, knitting a hat. He already finished a bright green hat for himself a few days ago and now he’s working on one for Steve. Apparently Steve had picked a multicolored yarn that slowly changes color. Bucky hopes it’ll end up looking okay.

He loops the yarn around another peg, then he’s reached his knees. He tucks the yarn under his thigh and adjusts the loom, then he’s back to looping.

He feels the couch dip and shake, and then Steve is wedging himself between Bucky and the couch. Steve shifts around, spreading his legs around Bucky and wrapping his arms around him.

“You here to inspect progress on your hat?”

Steve kisses his neck and taps on the hand that’s busy looping yarn around pegs.

“I barely got started. There ain’t much to show yet.” He shoves the end of the yarn under his thigh and lifts up the loom, showing Steve.

Steve gives him a tight squeeze and puts the loom in Bucky’s lap so he can tell him it’s beautiful.

Bucky grins. “You sweet talker, you. So, you just here to futz around and watch other people work, or did you wanna say something?”

Steve takes Bucky’s hand and flattens it on his thigh. He asks Bucky if he wants to take the train.

“Train? You mean the city train? The subway?”

Tap.

Bucky pauses. Except for the time when Steve told him how Brooklyn had changed over the decades, Bucky hadn’t really thought about the train.

Jesus, he hasn’t taken the train in 70 years.

“They’ve still got the train running, huh?”

Tap.

“Do they fly through the air now?”

More laughter. A rub. He tells him in some cities the trains don’t have drivers and some even run using magnets, but none of them fly.

Bucky chuckles. “I guess all those science fiction pulps we spent our money on were full of baloney, huh?”

He thinks it over. On one hand, he’d love to visit some new places, but on the other hand, the thought of taking the train is intimidating.

“Stevie, I don’t know. There’s gonna be lots of people and there’s a lot that can go wrong. What if I fall off the platform and get run over?”

Steve tightens his grip around him and tells him that Steve isn’t letting Bucky fall anywhere. He did it once and he’s never doing it again.

That makes Bucky smile, but he’s still unsure about the whole thing. “And what if I lose you on the train? How am I gonna get off and get back home?”

Steve’s rubbing his hand again, pressing his face into Bucky’s neck and mouthing words. He spells the words on his palm at the same time. He tells Bucky not to worry, that Steve will be there every single second. Steve kicks his legs up and wraps them around Bucky’s legs, effectively sealing Bucky in a Steve-envelope.

Bucky laughs. “Well, if this is how we’re gonna sit on the train, then I can do it.”

Steve asks him if he’s sure. He reminds him that they don’t have to take the train if he doesn’t want to. They can take a hackie if they want to go somewhere that’s too far to walk.

Well, he might be nervous about it, but Bucky does want to give it a try. “Yeah. Yeah, I wanna try. I don’t like having to pay a hackie if we wanna go somewhere far. You’ll help me?”

Tap, tap, tap.

“Okay. Then we’ll try. My ma would have a heart attack, but we’ll try.”

Steve asks him what he means.

Bucky smiles. “You don’t remember? The [Malbone Street wreck](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Malbone_Street_Wreck)? A couple of months after you were born? Ma swore she’d never step foot on the train again and she’d get so mad if any of us took the train.”

Tap, tap, tap.

So Steve does remember.

“But I’m guessing they have better safety gear in place today, right? They have to. Don’t tell me the trains still just rely on those idiot drivers?”

No, they don’t, Steve tells him. The trains are much safer. Even Bucky’s ma might approve of these new ones, he tells him.

“Alright then. Besides, my ma ain’t here to get mad at us. As long as we both promise to let her say ‘I told you so’ if we die in the next big accident, I think it’s okay.”

Steve’s laughing. Bucky can tell from the widening of his smile against his neck and the shaking of Steve’s body.

Tap.

“So, where exactly are we taking the train to?”

Steve suggests going to the beach.

Bucky grins. “The beach? I don’t even remember the last time I touched sand. Alright, that sounds like a plan. Let’s get going, Rogers. We’ve got lots to get done today.”

But Steve isn’t unwrapping himself from Bucky.

He asks Bucky again if he’s sure.

Bucky smiles. “I’m fine, I promise. If it’s too much, you’ll know before I have to say anything and you’ll call a hackie and we’ll come home.”

Steve squeezes him tightly and kisses his cheek. Then he untangles himself from Bucky to go get ready.

Bucky doesn’t let himself get anxious about the upcoming train ride. He’ll just face one obstacle at a time. First, he needs to focus on putting away his loom project without tangling the yarn. Then he needs to focus on getting his winter gear on.

One step at a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you missed the link in the story, the 1918 Malbone Street wreck was a real thing. 93 people were killed and it still remains the deadliest NY subway accident in history. You can read more information about it [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Malbone_Street_Wreck).
> 
> Next chapter: Subway time!


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to take the subway!

Getting to their closest subway station is the easy part. They’ve actually passed the Court Street Station numerous times, but Steve has never bothered telling Bucky about it. He still can’t believe that nearly all of the stations they’d used when they were younger are still the same.

Court Street Station had been the starting point for a lot of their adventures when they were younger.

Seventy years later, nothing’s changed.

The first tough part is getting down the long flight of steps leading down into the station. Steve stops Bucky at the top, writes a ‘S’ and then a ‘D’, and counts the stairs. He remembers Bucky used to leap down these stairs, three at a time, barely holding onto the railing. Steve would have had a heart attack if he’d tried to match his pace, but Bucky would always wait at the bottom for him.

Neither of them will be leaping down these stairs now, that’s for sure.

Steve counts the steps, making a face when he realizes how many there are. He only remembers grousing about the stairs when he had to climb up them, but now going down these stairs is the much more difficult and dangerous task.

Bucky gives him a hip bump. “How many steps, Rogers? I remember jumping down these things but I ain’t ever counted them.”

Steve tells him and sees Bucky’s eyes widen slightly. They’ve never climbed down more than 10 steps.

Then Bucky sets his jaw. “Alright, let’s get going.” He puts away his cane and waves his hand through the air. Steve grabs it and guides him to the railing, curling his fingers over it.

“Here we go,” Bucky says and carefully starts making his way down the long flight of stairs.

Steve shakes the image of a young Bucky leaping down these stairs out of his head and reminds himself to focus. He steps around Bucky and keeps pace with him, staying two steps below him.

He stops noticing the people who are sweeping past them, all his attention focused on making sure they both get down the steps safely.

When they finally reach the bottom, they both sigh with relief. Bucky gets his cane out and holds out his arm for Steve. There are people moving past them in both directions and Steve pulls Bucky over so they’re as close to the wall as possible.

 Steve’s thinking that this entire thing isn’t that bad—until he comes face to face with a wall of rotating metal rods.

Those are definitely not the low turnstiles they used to jump over when they didn’t have the required five cent fare, or when Steve had taken the train that one time while he’d lived in Manhatten.

He’d wandered around on foot during his first few weeks, until one of the secretaries at SHIELD headquarters took pity on him and gave him a train ticket. Everything from that time period is a blur to him, so the only parts he remembers is being handed the train ticket, listening to somebody chatter about a friend’s birthday party while walking down the street, and then he’d been on the train.

An intense wave of grief had washed over him and within two stops he was struggling not to burst into tears and he was having trouble breathing. He’d stumbled out of the train and caught a hackie back to his apartment where he’d stayed for three days.

Now that he thinks about it, he’s pretty sure the secretary had actually come with him. She was the one talking about her friend’s birthday party. She must have also guided him through the turnstiles, because he doesn’t remember any of that.

Which means he has absolutely no idea how to get through this wall of rods. He can see that they’re turning to allow people to pass through them, but he doesn’t think they just turned automatically. Otherwise, what would be the point of having them? So he still has to figure out how to get them to turn. And where is he supposed to buy the tickets?

Shit.

Bucky’s still walking forward but Steve pulls him to a stop. He takes off their gloves and tells him to wait.

There are people rushing past them, their voices echoing off the narrow tunnel walls, the metal rods are constantly turning, and there’s high pitched beep every few seconds adding to the noise and confusion. It’s overwhelming and Steve’s wishing he could ask Bucky to help him figure it out.

For the first time in months, Steve feels himself starting to panic.

But he can’t afford to panic, because Bucky can’t help him figure this out—Bucky’s depending on him to figure it out himself.

Steve can either turn them around, go back up the stairs and go home, or he can match the bravery of the man whose arm he’s currently clinging to, and deal with this one step at a time.

Bucky’s gone quiet and still, sensing by Steve’s tight grip on his arm and command to wait that something’s going on.

Steve takes a deep breath and nudges them up against the wall to get out of the flow of traffic as much as possible. He squeezes Bucky’s hand and tells him again to wait. He tells him the entrance has changed and he has to figure things out.

“Okay,” Bucky says. “Nice and slow, Stevie. That’s better than falling flat on our faces, right? You tell me what you want me to do and when. Until then, I’ll wait.”

Steve focuses his attention on the people who are approaching the metal rods and watches what they do. They swipe little cards through a metal machine connected to the wall of rods, the machine lets out that high pitched beep, then they push against the rods and the wall spins, letting them pass through.

Those cards must be the tickets. Damn it, if he’d been paying attention to the ticket the secretary handed him, he might remember what it looked like.

Whatever.

But where can he get the tickets from?

Most people already seem to have them, but then Steve finally sees a man who is digging coins out of his wallet. The man goes to one of the large machines located along the walls of the tunnel, presses on the screen and deposits his coins. He digs around in a slot at the bottom and pulls out one of those plastic cards.

Ah ha.

Steve’s starting to put the picture together.

The days of stuffing a nickel into the coin slot on a turnstile are definitely behind them.

He watches a few more people purchase the tickets from the machine before he feels ready to give it a try himself.

He takes Bucky’s hand and explains that they have to buy tickets.

Bucky smirks. “What? You don’t feel confident in my ability to jump the turnstiles anymore? Really? It’s so disappointing that you have such little faith in me, Rogers.”

Steve snorts and rolls his eyes, gently smacking Bucky over the back of the head. He firmly reminds Bucky to focus.

“Okay, okay. I’m paying attention. Go ahead and give the government our ten cents so we can be on our way like all good law abiding citizens. Technically I think the great state of New York owes us a few free rides after what we went through, but I guess we used up our free rides before the war.”

Steve steers them over to one of the machines and follows the instructions on the screen. The thing is asking if he wants to buy a single ride ticket or something called a MetroCard. He has no idea what a MetroCard is, so he chooses the ticket option. He indicates he wants two of them.

Then he’s told that the machine wants $6.00.

He blinks at it and nearly falls over.

It’s been a while since he’s been shocked by the seventy years of inflation he had skipped over.

Going from $0.05 a ticket to $3.00 is insane. What the hell is wrong with this world?

But he needs to focus. He decides not to tell Bucky about the new ticket price at the moment since Bucky has bigger things to worry about. He puts in his money and the machine spits out two cards.

There’s a woman around his age who has stepped up to the machine next to them.

Steve can tell she’s trying to hide the fact that she’s staring at them. He doesn’t know whether it’s Bucky standing there, silent and tense, holding his cane, or Steve taking forever at the machine that’s attracting her attention.

He shoots her a quick smile while he’s collecting his tickets.

She’s finished with her machine but she’s hesitating.

“Uh, excuse me, sir?”

Steve is busy shifting Bucky over a bit so they’re not blocking access to the machine. “Yes?”

“Are you two tourists?”

Well, that’s embarrassing. No, they’re certainly not tourists. They’ve lived here longer than most of these people have been alive.

“Uh, no. We’re locals. We just—haven’t taken the train in a while. A long, _long_ while.”

“I see. Do you know you can buy MetroCards for yourselves and it’s cheaper than getting the single ride tickets? You can re-load them at the machines or on the internet. It’s a lot more convenient.” She holds up a plastic card that’s different from the tickets Steve is holding.

Steve feels another flush of embarrassment, then decides to bite the bullet and asks her what the hell MetroCards are. After she explains, Steve realizes the cards are way more convenient than always having to make sure you have a nickel in your pocket.

Or _three_ _dollars_.

Whatever.

“And—I don’t want to be rude, but is your friend disabled?”

“Yes.” Steve narrows his eyes at her. If she’s going to start saying some nonsense about Bucky not being allowed on the train, he’s gonna set her straight real quick. He has no idea what the rules are, but the only way they’ll get Bucky off the train is if they physically remove him—which would first require removing Steve.

Good luck with that.

“I’m just asking because he could apply for a special MetroCard. He’d pay a really discounted fee. My friend’s mother’s in a wheelchair and she uses it. It saves a lot of money if you’re taking the train a lot.”

Oh. That’s—a pretty decent thing for the city to be doing. They didn’t have anything like that back in the day.

Steve feels a little bad for having completely misjudged the city where disabled train riders are concerned.

Sorry, New York.

“Thank you so much. I’ll get us MetroCards on the way back.”

“You’re welcome.” She spins around and heads towards the wall of metal rods.

That’s when Steve remembers that they’ve still got a very long way to go on their train adventure.

He’s watched people swiping their cards and tickets, and moving through the wall, but having Steve copy them is one thing.

Having Bucky do it is a whole other thing.

He presses one of the tickets into Bucky’s hand and squeezes Bucky’s hand. Bucky rubs it between his fingers. “This is the ticket?”

Tap.

“Do we show it to the conductor?”

No, Steve tells him. He’s gotta slide it through the machine.

“I slide it through a machine?”

Tap.

He brings Bucky over to the wall of machines and rotating rods. He picks the one closest to the wall, hoping to avoid a big crowd.

He has Bucky touch the ticket machine and the wall of rods.

He’s having a difficult time explaining exactly what will happen because Bucky has no idea what it means when he tells him the metal rods will be turning. Steve can sympathize. He wouldn’t understand how these things work unless he got a chance to look at them with his own two eyes.

Bucky doesn’t have that luxury.

Bucky’s frowning. “Stevie, I think we should just do it. We’ll go together and I’ll do what you say.”

Steve sighs. “That’s the problem, Buck. We have to go one at a time.”

He pulls Bucky to the side and thinks it over. There’s really only one way to do it.

He lifts Bucky’s chin up and kisses him. He asks him if he trusts him.

Bucky smiles. “You know I do, punk. What do you want me to do?”

Steve tells him they have to go through the wall of metal rods one at a time. All Bucky has to do is walk through the wall as it turns and walk straight until he reaches the far wall.

“That’s it? Walk through the metal rod wall while it turns, and then walk to the wall?” He sounds doubtful that it’s so simple.

Not quite.

Steve tells him that he absolutely can’t stop once he gets moving. He repeats that twice for good measure. He has no idea if the wall would stop moving if Bucky stopped moving, or if it would keep going and hurt him.

“Okay, I can do that. Walk to the wall. Don’t stop.”

Lastly, Steve tells him not to hold the rods. He repeats that twice too.

“Okay, don’t hold the rods. I can do that.”

Steve squeezes Bucky’s hand and pulls them back to the machine. He gets Bucky standing right in front of the wall of metal rods. Bucky’s frowning in concentration. He touches the metal rods in front of him, but when he realizes they’re the rods and not a wall, he lets go of them.

Steve swipes Bucky’s ticket through the machine, it lets out a loud beep, and Steve gives Bucky a push forward, his heart in his throat.

Bucky doesn’t touch the rods, but he feels the wall of rods behind him push him forward. He shuffles forward, letting himself be shoved forward.

“Wall, Buck, keep going to the wall,” Steve calls, realizing right away that his words are pointless.

Once Bucky is clear of the metal rods, Steve swipes his own ticket and pushes through the wall.

Bucky pauses when he’s no longer being pushed forward, but then remembers his instructions. He shuffles forward, not stopping until his cane bumps into the far wall. He presses his hand against the wall and stays exactly where he is, not moving a muscle.

Bucky Barnes: the bravest man Steve has ever known and will ever know. No doubt about it.

Steve shoves at the rods, willing them to turn faster. Once he’s through, he hurries to Bucky and grabs his arm, wanting to pull him into his arms and let him know Steve’s here and they’d survived.

Bucky startles at the contact, drawing in a sharp breath and jerking away from Steve’s touch. “He-hello. Can I help you?”

“Shit,” Steve mutters. He slides the sleeve of his jacket up and puts Bucky’s hand on the leather bracelet. Bucky quickly touches the beads and notches. Steve can see the relief settle over his face, but he’s still shaking and pale. “Oh, Steve. Thank God.”

Steve gently pulls him close, wrapping his arms tightly around him and knocking Bucky’s baseball cap askew. He leans them against the wall, keeping his grip on Bucky tight. Steve realizes Bucky’s not the only one shaking.

“You did so good, Buck. I’m so proud of you!” he mumbles into Bucky’s hair, kissing his neck.

“Was that good?”

Steve taps Bucky’s back several times. He pulls back enough so he can spell on his hand and tell him how great he did.

“Okay. Do we have to do that again?”

Steve tells him they will, but only later, when they have to leave the station.

“Alright. I don’t like it, but if we practice then I’ll get more comfortable.”

They stay flattened against the wall, staying out of the flow of traffic and waiting until they’ve calmed down. Steve keeps Bucky against the wall and shields him from the crowd, not allowing any of the passing strangers to brush up against Bucky.

When Bucky’s lost some of the tension in his jaw and shoulders, Steve asks him if he wants to continue or if he’s had enough for today.

“I’m okay. I’m ready to keep going if you’re okay.”

Steve tells him he’s okay. Although he’s still a bit shaken up, if Bucky’s ready to keep going, then so is Steve.

Bucky straightens his cap, shoves his sunglasses further up his nose and gets his cane back into his hand. “Okay, then. Let’s go.”

Steve’s been looking around and the crowd around them has gotten bigger. There are many more people walking past them in the tunnel. Steve tells Bucky it’s too crowded for him to use his cane right now. He helps Bucky put his cane away and Bucky holds onto Steve’s left arm. He steps a bit behind and to Steve’s left, and then he tells Steve he’s ready.

They make their way down the tunnel and climb down a short flight of steps. Steve’s paying more attention to Bucky than their surroundings, so he’s pretty impressed with himself that his feet remember how to get to the right platform.

When it gets even more crowded, Steve carefully moves his left arm behind him and slows down so Bucky is walking directly behind him, Bucky keeping a very tight grip on Steve’s sleeve.

Once they get to the platform, a train is just pulling in. There’s no way they’re ready to get on the train yet, so Steve flattens them against the wall again, wrapping his arms around Bucky and keeping the flood of exiting passengers away from him.

Bucky understands by now that when they’re in this position, Steve needs him to wait, so he stays quiet and still in Steve’s arms, pressing his face against Steve’s neck. His cap brim is bumping against Steve’s chin.

Once the train pulls away and the crowd has dispersed, Steve leads Bucky to one of the pillars. He squeezes Bucky’s hand and tells him to take his cane back out.

“Okay, hold on.” When Bucky has his cane back in his hand, Steve tightens Bucky’s grip on it. He keeps a gentle hand on his back and gently pushes him forward.

Steve wants to make sure Bucky understands where the edge of the platform is. To be safe, Steve keeps one hand twisted in Bucky’s jacket and keeps his other arm in front of Bucky, ready to pull him back if he gets into trouble at the edge.

Bucky’s frowning in concentration as he walks forward. Once the cane slips off the edge and drops into nothing, Bucky freezes.

“Stairs?”

Steve rubs his hands. He tells him these are the tracks.

“Oh, right. That makes sense.” Bucky quickly pulls the cane back and takes a step back, stomping on Steve’s foot without realizing it. Steve turns them around and walks them back to the nearby pillar.

As soon as Bucky has the pillar on one side and Steve on his other, he seems to be more relaxed.

Steve looks around and notices a hanging display with train information scrolling past. That would have been useful seventy years ago.

He checks the names of the upcoming trains. He knows they need the R train, but he’s not familiar with the other train lines.

When he realizes the next train is going to pass right through, he breathes a sigh of relief. No crowd to deal with.

He can hear the rumbling of the train echoing down the tunnel as it approaches. He watches Bucky’s face, wondering when he’ll notice the train. Bucky’s face stays blank, until Steve feels a slight breeze on his face, the air being pushed ahead of the train. Bucky perks up.

“Is that a train?”

“Yup. Good job, Barnes.” He taps Bucky’s hand.

“Is that _our_ train?”

“Not yet.” He rubs his hand.

“Which train are we taking?”

Steve writes the letter ‘R’. Bucky nods. “I remember now.”

The screeching of the train gets louder as it approaches and the wind is stronger on their faces. Steve tightens his grip on Bucky, leaning them against the pillar. Finally the train bursts out of the tunnel and barrels past, the platform floor shaking.

“It’s here, ain’t it?”

Steve can barely hear Bucky over the noise, but he taps him on the back.

Once the train is passed, Steve checks the train information. The next train is theirs.

He squeezes Bucky’s hand and tells him they’ll be boarding the next train.

Bucky nods and stands up from his slouch against the pillar. Steve stands next to him, adjusting Bucky’s grip on his cane. Steve stands partially behind Bucky, his left arm around Bucky’s waist, his right hand on Bucky’s wrist.

A million thoughts race through his head, the loudest one being ‘please let this go well, please let this go well’.

He hears the train approach right before he feels the wind on his face.

He realizes he’s clutching Bucky a bit too tightly. He tries to loosen his grip, but he’s too nervous. So many things can go wrong: they could stumble and fall, the crowd could separate them, they could get stuck in the door.

Bucky notices his tight grip. “We can do this, Stevie. It’ll be okay.”

The train comes shooting out of the tunnel and screeches to a stop. The doors open, and a flood of people come pouring out. Steve tightens his grip on Bucky and stands firm while they’re jostled by the exiting crowd. It’s not the best place to stand, but Steve didn’t want to stand too far back and risk having the doors close before they get into the train.

Once their fellow passengers start getting on, Steve shuffles Bucky forward, moving as quickly as he dares.

Please don’t let the doors close, please don’t let the doors close.

Bucky’s sweeping in front of him with his cane as he approaches the door. Everything’s going smoothly until the cane jerks out of Bucky’s hand and he stumbles forward with a shout, nearly falling through the train doors.

Steve manages to grab the cane with his right hand and tightens his grip around Bucky’s waist with his left, managing to direct their stumble into the train doors.

They nearly smack right into a pole, then the doors are sliding shut behind them. Bucky can’t steady himself, and Steve’s holding the cane and Bucky, so they’re about to tumble to the ground when several hands reach out to steady them.

Steve feels multiple people grabbing him, and he’s still holding onto Bucky, so even when the train starts moving, everybody stays on their feet.

“Oh, my God,” Steve breathes out. He ducks around Bucky and lifts his chin up. “Buck, you okay? Shit.”

Bucky’s pale and trembling, but he’s nodding, knowing what Steve’s asking without having to hear it. “I’m okay, Stevie. Are you okay?” Steve keeps one arm wrapped around Bucky and grabs the pole with the other, keeping them upright as the train picks up the speed. Bucky’s clutching his cane.

“Stevie, are you okay?” Bucky sounds anxious and Steve realizes he forgot to answer his question. He taps Bucky on the hand multiple times.

Steve looks at the people around them. “Thank you for the help. Shit.” He gets back polite smiles and a chorus of ‘no problem’.

Bucky looks as shaken up as Steve is. “Can I sit down, or do we have to stand? I’d really like to sit down.”

Steve would really like to sit down too. His legs are shaking and his heart is still lodged in his throat.

“Sir? Sir, you guys can have these two seats.”

Steve looks up and sees a teenager gesturing at two seats close to the doors. Steve sees a sign above the seats, indicating they are for elderly, pregnant or disabled people.

He’s about to point out that they don’t qualify for any of those things, when it dawns on him that Bucky certainly does.

Damn.

He gently steers Bucky over to the seat and helps him sit. He folds up his cane and helps Bucky slide it into his holster. Then he collapses in the seat next to Bucky. He knows technically he doesn’t qualify for these seats, but right now he doesn’t care.

Jesus Christ, this is so much harder than he thought.


	35. Chapter 35

Steve wraps one arm around Bucky and pulls him close. He asks him if he’s okay.

Bucky gives a shaky nod. “Yeah. What happened? What did I get stuck on?”

Steve actually has no idea.

He’s about to tell that to Bucky, when the teenager leans over. “He got the cane stuck in the gap between the train and the platform.”

Steve blinks at him. “There’s a _gap_?”

“Yeah. A couple of inches.”

“Why the fuck is there a gap? Do they want people killing themselves?” Steve realizes the poor kid has nothing to do with the situation, but Steve’s still scared and tense.

The teenager doesn’t seem offended by Steve’s temper. He shrugs. “Don’t know, man. That’s how it’s always been.”

Steve tries thinking back if there had been a gap there when they were younger.

Maybe there had been.

It certainly wasn’t something he had worried about back then.

He turns to Bucky and tells him about the gap.

“Gap?! Who puts a fucking gap between the platform and the train? Stupid people.”

Steve privately agrees, but he doesn’t want Bucky getting the wrong impression, so he tells him that he thinks the gap was always there, they just didn’t notice it before.

Bucky narrows his eyes. “Really? I don’t remember that—but maybe there was. We’ll have to practice that. Steve, please tell me we don’t gotta get off for a while. I don’t wanna move for a while.”

That’s when Steve looks around and realizes they’ve completely missed the DeKalb Avenue stop where they were supposed to get off to transfer to the Q.

He snorts.

There’s no way they’re gonna make it to the beach today. No way.

They’d have to get off, switch to the other side of the platform, go back to DeKalb, walk to the Q platform, and get on the Q train.

That’s not happening today.

That’s probably not happening any time soon.

Just like their first walking experience, they had both underestimated how difficult this new procedure would be.

He squeezes Bucky’s hand. He tells him they aren’t gonna make it to the beach today.

Bucky snorts. “No, no beach. I just wanna stay on the train and then go home. This has been more than enough excitement for one day.”

Steve squeezes Bucky tight and presses a kiss to Bucky’s cheek. He spies the teenager discreetly taking pictures of them, but he doesn’t care.

Gradually, they both calm from their earlier scare and relax to enjoy the ride. The train rumbles along, screeching along the rails and slowing to a stop at each station. People stream on and off and there’s a robotic voice announcing each stop before they arrive.

Steve follows along on the map posted above the door.

There are quite a few people staring at them and taking pictures, but Steve ignores them.

He slings his left around across Bucky’s shoulders and relaxes against him, tangling their right hands together and gently rubbing Bucky’s left shoulder.

“Hey, Steve?”

“Yeah, Buck?” Steve taps his hand.

“Where did the seat cushions go? My seat don’t got one.”

Steve shifts a bit and realizes that yes, Bucky’s right. They’re sitting on uncomfortable hard plastic, not the squishy seat cushions they spent most of their lives sitting on while riding the train. Steve discreetly looks around and notices it’s not just their seats. None of the seats have cushions on them.

“I guess they don’t do that anymore, Buck. I don’t see any seat cushions,” he says, spelling on Bucky’s palm.

Bucky nods. “It’s just as well. Those things were always disgusting. But it was real nice being able to sit on ‘em when we were going somewhere after work, huh? My butt appreciated having a soft place to sit, even if my pants didn’t always like it.”

Steve chuckles. “You’ll live, Buck.”

Bucky snorts. “I guess I don’t got a choice, do I? Hey—” He elbows Steve. “—it’s pretty lucky these seats were open, huh? It ain’t so busy.”

Steve rubs his hand and explains about the priority seats.

Bucky starts grinning half-way through the explanation. “Well, that’s really appropriate. One seat for me, the crippled one and one seat for you, the old geezer.”

Steve snorts. He reminds Bucky that Steve’s always been and always will be younger than him. Not only was Bucky born a year and a half earlier than Steve, but he wasn’t frozen for the entire seventy years. Technically, Bucky is even older than Steve now than he used to be.

Bucky makes a face and acknowledges that Steve might be right.

“You should be used to it by now,” Steve says, spelling on Bucky’s palm.

Bucky grins and rips his hand out of his grasp so he can smack Steve’s leg. “Respect your elders, Rogers. Jesus Christ.”

Then he asks more questions about the priority seating, like how many seats there are and how many there are in each train car. Then he reminds Steve that while he appreciates sitting down, he’s got his wits back now, so if somebody else come along that needs the seat more, Steve needs to  tell him so he can stand up. “You can’t let me be rude just cause I can’t see nothing.”

“Yes, sir.” Steve says it and spells it at the same time.

Now Bucky starts paying more attention to his surroundings. When the train slows to a stop, Bucky frowns.

“Did we stop? Are we stopped?”

Steve untangles his hand and taps on Bucky’s hand.

Bucky checks a few more times, asking Steve to confirm whether they’ve stopped or started moving.

Once Bucky’s settled into the motions of the train and he’s comfortable in his seat, he asks more questions. He wants to know what the station names are and what Steve can see—how many people are on the train, what kind of people, is there anybody interesting, what color are the seats. Steve rests his head against Bucky’s and happily chats with him.

Sometimes Steve will talk and spell at the same time, but if he’s gossiping about a person who’s on the train car with them, he’ll just spell. If the car is very quiet, he reminds Bucky to ask questions like that non-verbally.

They go back and forth with their chatting, sometimes using their voices, sometimes their fingers and sometimes both.

There are two young Asian women sitting across from them and they’re openly gawking at Steve and Bucky. Steve’s used to such staring, but usually the people staring take a quick picture or ask him a question and then they’ll try to move their eyes elsewhere.

Not these two.

Finally Steve gives them a tight smile and a pointed look, letting them know that he can tell they’re staring. He doesn’t care enough to engage them in conversation, but if a small smile from him stops the staring, then he’ll try.

It makes one of the women’s eyes jerk away from him, but not the other.

The staring one seems to think his smile was an invitation to chat, because she leans forward, eyes on Bucky.

“How—how are you doing that?”

Steve is confused. “Doing what?”

She turns away from Bucky and looks at Steve. She gives him an unimpressed look. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

Steve struggles to not burst out laughing. “Well, I’m the only one out of the two of us who can hear you, so unless you talk to me, he ain’t gonna hear a thing.”

She blinks. “He’s deaf?”

“Yup.”

“But he has a cane and the sunglasses. That means he’s blind.”

Steve can’t help it. He still finds these conversations very funny. He doesn’t know why he finds them funny, but he does. Maybe because he’s so used to Bucky’s disabilities by now that he thinks it’s bizarre that other people don’t know. “Yup. He’s blind too.”

She stares at him and then stares at Bucky. “But—I didn’t know they have those.”

Her friend—who has carefully been pretending not to listen—stares at her friend with an incredulous expression on her face.

Steve’s amused smile fades a bit. This is something he’s still not used to. When some people realize that Bucky can’t hear or see them, they’ll start talking about him like he’s some strange object.

Steve is sure that people don’t mean to be rude or disrespectful when they say things like that. He knows that disabled people stand out in public, and Bucky’s disabilities are quite unique. He knows Bucky is possibly the first and only fully deafblind person most people will ever meet.

So he doesn’t get into arguments with people over their word choices. Instead, he either tells them he’s too busy to provide more information, or if they have time—like they do here—then he’ll answer a few questions.

“Deafblind people do exist. Most deafblind people—”

“Steve, are we still underground?”

Steve takes his attention away from the girls for a second. He realizes he forgot to tell Bucky that he’s having a conversation with somebody. Damn it. “Yeah, Buck. We are.” He taps Bucky’s hand to answer his question, then tells him some strangers are talking to him.

“Okay.” Bucky pulls his hand back and relaxes in his seat, knowing that Steve will let him know if he’s needed in the conversation.

Steve turns back to the girls. “Some deafblind people have a little vision or a little hearing, or both, but Bucky—” he nods his head in Bucky’s direction, “—doesn’t have either.”

Her eyes get even bigger. “So—so he can—” she leans even closer to him. “He can read minds?” Her friend looks even more mortified and she’s frantically elbowing her friend to shut her up.

Steve blinks at her. “ _What_?”

“You’ve been talking to him, right?”

“Right…”

“But if he’s deaf, he can’t hear you. But he’s been answering your questions so he knows what you’re saying. So is he reading your mind?”

Steve can’t tell if she’s serious or not, but he realizes somebody who doesn’t know that he’s spelling things out for Bucky would be very confused.

He’s so used to it by now that he no longer has to look at Bucky’s hand when he’s spelling. He’s figured out how he can do each letter with different fingers so he can spell on Bucky’s hand even if their hands are tangled together. It’s really convenient that he doesn’t have to flatten out Bucky’s hand and get both of them sitting in a certain way to communicate.

In fact, Steve can spell with both hands equally well, and he can even spell on Bucky’s hand when it’s upside down.

And Bucky keeps up incredibly well. Bucky’s a little slower at doing the tactile spelling, just because he doesn’t have to do it often, but Bucky’s completely fluent at deciphering Steve’s spelling.

They’re both pretty talented fellas.

Steve smiles. “I spell on his hand.”

That clearly doesn’t mean anything to her. “What?”

“I’ll tell Bucky to explain it to you.”

He tells Bucky there’s a woman sitting across from him who wants to talk to him about how Steve talks to him. Steve tells him he doesn’t have to talk to her if he’s not comfortable.

Bucky flips their hands around and tells him it’s fine.

He extends his hand across the aisle. “Hi, I’m Bucky. It’s nice to meet you.”

The woman’s eyes are huge and she looks like she’s about to pass out.

She slowly extends her hand and shakes Bucky’s hand.

“What’s your name?”

“Uh. Mia…”

Bucky holds his hand up so she can clearly see it. Steve very slowly spells her name on his palm, doing the letters as carefully as he had when he was teaching Bucky.

“Steve here just wrote M and I and A on my hand, so I’m assuming your name’s Mia?”

“Yeah…”

Steve taps Bucky’s hand. “Steve just tapped my hand so I know you said ‘yes’. Steve can make letters and numbers and other symbols on my hand and that’s how I know what he or other people are saying.”

She looks amazed. “That’s so cool!”

Steve tells Bucky what she said.

Bucky smiles. “Yup, it’s swell.”

Mia looks fascinated by all this and looks like she wants to ask more questions, but her friend elbows her in the side and reminds her that the next stop is theirs. She gives them both a smile. “Have a good day!”

“You too!” Steve says. He steps on Bucky’s foot twice.

“Bye, Mia. It was really nice talking to you!” Bucky calls out.

Once Mia and her friend have gotten off the train, Steve goes back to looking around.

Eventually Bucky elbows Steve in the side.

“Hey, tell me who’s [Miss Subways](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Miss_Subways) this month. I know you’re staring at her.”

The request takes Steve completely by surprise and he lets out a laugh. “Oh, my God, Barnes.”

Of course Bucky would remember the posters of pretty women on the subway. Steve looks up and scans the advertisements around them, but doesn’t see any of the Miss Subways posters. They used to have at least one in each car, so he should see them if they still produce them.

There aren’t any.

He rubs Bucky’s hand.

Bucky misunderstands. “Sure you ain’t. I bet you’re ogling Miss Subways right now. I’m gonna be jealous in a minute.”

Steve chuckles and rubs Bucky’s hand. He tells him there aren’t any Miss Subways posters in their train car.

Bucky frowns. “What? There’s no Miss Subways?”

Rub.

“That’s too bad. I loved reading those things. Of course the dames weren’t bad looking either, but I liked reading about them. You remember, Steve? They were always interesting women doing interesting things.”

Steve taps on Bucky’s hand. He remembers the posters well. They’d started producing them in the early 40s right before they’d left for the war.

Bucky had told him in a letter that one of Bucky’s pals had stolen one of the posters from a subway car and had brought it to the front with him.

“You remember the one who wanted to be a flight instructor? That was Heidi.”

Steve stares at Bucky. He’d read the same posters he had, but he couldn’t remember those details.

“The last one I saw was Marguerite’s. She wanted to be a doctor like her father. I wonder if she ever did that.”

Steve turns Bucky’s palm over. He wants to see how good Barnes’ memory is. He asks him who the first Miss Subways had been.

“First Miss Subways? Easy. Mona Freeman. She wanted to be a freelance illustrator.”

Steve gapes at him and Bucky’s grinning smugly. “Got any hard questions for me, Rogers?”

Steve smacks him over the back of the head and laughs into his neck. “You’re being a wise-guy, Barnes. You’re riding the train _and_ being a wise-guy. Your ma would be appalled.” He spells it on Bucky’s hand while he’s saying it.

Bucky laughs. “Oh, definitely.” Then he sobers. “When did they stop doing Miss Subways?”

Steve gets out his phone and looks it up. He finds out it was 1976. He also double checks to see if Bucky was right about Mona.

He was.

Damn it.

He tells Bucky ‘1976’ to answer his question. “Oh, good. It’s nice they kept them going for so long. It was good for the girls.”

Steve scrolls though the website he’s found and is happy to read that the first African-American woman to win the title was Thelma Potter, in 1947, followed by the first Asian woman in 1949.

Thelma won 36 years before the first African-American woman won the Miss America title.

That’s their New York.

He tells Bucky what he’s discovered. “Damn, we just missed Thelma by a few years. That would have been great to see!”

Then Steve discovers that the man who owned the NY Subways Advertising Company who had been a major supporter of the Miss Subways was also the same man who had sold the Dodgers to LA. “So you’re not the complete scum we thought you were, Walter O’Malley,” he mumbles. He tells Bucky, knowing he’ll feel as conflicted as him.

“I guess we can’t hate O’Malley as much as want to, huh? Miss Subways was great. I guess I can forgive him for selling our Dodgers.”

They stay on the train all the way until it’s looped around and they’re back at Court Street Station. Steve has to get up from time to time to surrender his seat to individuals who need the seat more than he does, but he stands between Bucky’s open legs with Bucky holding the corner of Steve’s jacket and Steve reaching down to squeezes his hand occasionally, letting him know he’s okay. Neither of them want to risk getting separated even for a second.

When it’s time for them to get off, Steve helps Bucky get up and get his cane ready. As the doors slide open, Steve helps Bucky move the cane until it drops off the edge of the train. They lift the cane and gently move it forward a few inches and tapping on the platform edge. They step after it, smoothly stepping over the gap.

The last difficult part of the day is having to get through the wall of metal rods again. Steve hates the idea of doing this again, but they have no choice.

He brings Bucky to the wall, and as soon as Bucky feels the rods, he knows what’s coming. Steve swipes Bucky’s ticket, pushes Bucky through, and he carefully shuffles along, pushed by the rods and then makes his way to the far wall.

They take a few minutes to calm down and get situated again and they head for the stairs.

They spent so long on the train that it’s dark already and Steve realizes he’s starving.

Bucky looks exhausted and Steve’s no better, so they hurry along as quickly as they can, intensely focused on what their feet are doing and only communicating when necessary.

They finally make it home and they collapse in a tangle of limbs right in the entry way. Steve manages to kick the door shut behind them, but then he’s collapsed in a puddle again.

They lie sprawled out on the floor for several minutes until they start feeling too warm from the heat in the apartment. They slowly peel off their layers, leaving things scattered everywhere.

Bucky is the first to sit up, propping himself against the wall and surrounded by his cane, baseball cap, shoes and their jackets.

“Hey?”

Steve is sprawled out on the floor. He realizes they haven’t even locked the door yet. He reaches out a hand and smacks Bucky on the thigh. He’s too tired for more refined communication.

“We did it, Stevie. It was really hard, but we did it.”

Steve squeezes Bucky’s thigh.

Bucky crawls across the floor and sprawls across Steve’s chest. “I’m really proud of us,” he mumbles into Steve’s shirt.

Steve wraps one arm around him. He picks up Bucky’s other hand and tells him he’s proud too.

Bucky smiles. “Let’s order dinner so we don’t have to cook or do dishes. We deserve a treat after everything we did today.”

Steve couldn’t agree more. He manages to dig his phone out of his pocket without jostling Bucky too much. He dials their favourite Chinese restaurant and asks for some food. He’s not sure what he orders, but it’s food and it’s going to arrive without Steve having to move from the floor, so that’s good enough.

“How long until they get here?”

Steve reaches for Bucky’s fingers. He taps on the tip of his thumb and the tip of his pinky. He hopes Bucky realizes he means ‘minutes’ because he’s too tired to even spell out ‘M-I-N’. at the moment.

“15 minutes? Good. So we have 14 minutes to stay on the floor. Then we’ll have a minute to clean up our stuff and I’ll wash the cane and we’ll open the door for the delivery. No problem.”

Steve responds by wrapping both arms around Bucky. They both know that in about five minutes, they’ll have to get up and start getting things organized, but after the day they’ve had, there’s no harm in lying on the floor for a few minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here](http://cairistiona7.tumblr.com/post/158870359411/by7the7sea-in-new-york-and-visited-the-new-york) is a collection of photos showing how the subway train cars looked in the 1940s. You can see the seat cushions and an example of the Miss Subways posters, along with other advertisements.
> 
> I know Court Street Station actually has the low turnstiles, but I loved the idea of the boys having to figure out the full-wall turnstiles, so please excuse that inaccuracy.


	36. Chapter 36

A few days later, Bucky gets up from the table after eating breakfast and starts unfolding his cane so he can go to the kitchen to wash dishes—

—and when he unfolds the cane, he feels something hit his foot, and the cane feels much lighter than normal.

Frowning, he sits back down and puts the cane on his lap to figure out what happened. He runs his hand down the cane…

…and the cane abruptly ends a few inches below the handle. A frayed piece of the elastic cord that runs through the center of the cane is poking out of the end.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit!

He broke his cane.

He _broke_ his cane!

Jesus, Barnes. Good job.

Good. Job.

He bends down and gropes around on the floor until he finds the other pieces. Some of the metal cane sections are still strung on the broken elastic cord, but one piece has fallen off entirely and has rolled close to Steve’s chair. Steve is in the kitchen and probably hasn’t noticed what had happened.

Bucky collects the pieces and puts them on the table.

For a second, he feels complete panic wash over him. How is he going to get around? How can he see anything if he doesn’t have a cane?

His precious, wonderful, amazing cane is broken.

 _Broken_.

His lifeline is lying in pieces on the table.

He honestly feels like he’s about to cry. He’s probably feeling so overwhelmed because of how sudden this whole thing happened—but whatever the reason, he feels that stupid fear coming back.

He hasn’t felt this fear in months.

The darkness becomes cold and frightening again and the silence presses in on him.

“Steve? Steve, come help me. Please. Hurry.”

Within seconds, he feels Steve’s hands on him. He knows Steve can see the broken cane pieces on the table, but he needs to make sure Steve knows what happened.

“My cane broke, Steve. I don’t know what happened. I was just unfolding it and it broke.” His throat is tight and he knows he’s seconds away from bursting into tears.

Jesus Christ, Barnes! It’s just a cane and you’re almost thirty years old. Get a hold of yourself!

But it’s not just a cane.

Steve’s arms wrap around him and pull him into Steve’s arms. Steve’s lips are moving by his cheek, talking to him, trying to calm him.

Bucky knows what he’s saying. He’s saying they can get another cane. He’s saying he can order it very quickly and it’ll get here very quickly.

Bucky hopes.

He feels calmer with Steve so close to him. He realizes he’s still clutching the handle of the cane. He doesn’t want to let go of it for some reason.

Steve is kissing his face and gently tugging the cane handle out of his grasp so he can talk to him.

He tells him he’ll order a new cane right away and that they’ll send the broken cane back to the manufacturer for repair.

“What—what happened? Why did it break? I didn’t do anything to break it, did I?” He’s always careful when he’s using his cane. Well, as careful as he can be. The cane does end up getting stuck in things and smacked into things, but that’s what it’s designed for.

Steve tells him he’s not sure why it broke, but he’ll research it.

It takes three days until the new cane arrives. Bucky refuses to leave the apartment for those three days and shuffles around the apartment, moving from furniture to furniture like he did when he first got his cane.

He feels like an idiot.

He’s been getting more and more comfortable walking around the apartment without the cane and without shuffling—but just knowing that he can’t grab his cane to help him if he starts feeling scared is enough for the brakes to slam on.

He knows it’s all in his head and that he’s being a bit silly, but Steve is very understanding. He doesn’t push Bucky or tell him to hurry up if Bucky’s taking forever to get from one place to another—and if Bucky’s feeling really vulnerable, Steve will walk behind Bucky like he had those first few weeks when Bucky had come home. He doesn’t wrap his arms around him, but he holds the back of Bucky’s sweater so Bucky can feel that he’s there.

When the cane arrives, Steve unpacks it, hooks on the rolling ball tip that he took off the broken cane before sending it in, and hands it to Bucky.

Bucky doesn’t put the cane down until it’s time to get into bed.

Within just a few days, the fear recedes again and he gets his confidence back.

The cane goes back to spending most of its days sitting on the table in its holster while Bucky moves around the apartment without it.

But Bucky’s learned his lesson.

Even though he doesn’t really need the cane to physically move around in the apartment anymore, the cane is a huge psychological boost for him.

When his old cane comes back, Bucky is happy to discover that he actually can’t tell the difference between the new and the old cane. The elastic cord in both is new and strong and Steve has made sure that the new cane is an exact replica of the old.

It means Bucky can use one cane and they keep the other as a spare.

Bucky doesn’t want a repeat of this ordeal.

Steve has read up on [white cane maintenance](https://nfb.org/images/nfb/publications/fr/fr15/issue1/f150121.html) and informs Bucky that the cane is not meant to last forever. The elastic in the foldable canes does wear out and it’s Bucky’s job to touch the elastic from time to time and check for fraying and weakening. He can let Steve know when it’s time to send the cane in for elastic replacement before it falls apart. The company which sells the canes and cane tips provides free elastic replacement and other minor repair work throughout the cane’s lifespan.

The cane will get dinged and banged up, and Bucky should expect that he will eventually break the cane beyond repair. But that’s okay.

That’s why they have the spare one now.

Bucky starts thinking of his cane in a new way.

Up until now, the cane has been keeping an eye on Bucky, but from now on, Bucky will return the favor and keep an eye on the cane. They’ll take care of each other.

The cane might have started out as a caregiver for him, but just like with Steve, now their relationship is a partnership.

*             *             *

From the minute Steve opens his eyes, he can tell this is going to be one of his bad days. He has no desire to get out of bed today.

He rolls over and shakes Bucky awake. He waits until Bucky’s mumbled a ‘good morning Stevie’, then he tells him he doesn’t feel good today.

Bucky’s blinking rapidly and there’s a frown on his face.

He sits up and reaches out, touching Steve’s forehead. “You don’t feel too warm. Is it your lungs? Your chest? Your back?”

Bucky’s asked him these questions more times than Steve can remember, but he hasn’t done it recently.

Steve can’t help but smile. Bucky rarely forgets about Steve’s serum these days, but when he just woke up, it sometimes takes him a second to remember.

“No, Buck. It ain’t my body that’s not feeling good. It’s my stupid head.”

Bucky’s frown deepens. Steve can see him thinking. “Is it like that other day? You feel real grum—” Bucky pauses, clearly trying to force his sleep-addled brain to remember the wording Steve had used. “You feel depressed?”

Steve nods. “Yeah, Buck.”

“Okay. You wanna stay in bed today?”

Steve doesn’t answer. He wants to stay in bed, but he knows he shouldn’t.

While he’s worrying over how to answer, Bucky takes his silence as an answer.

“Okay, that’s settled. You’re staying in bed as long as you want and I’ll take care of things.” He leans over and covers Steve’s face in kisses.

Steve wraps his arms around Bucky and pulls him close. Bucky gently rubs the back of Steve’s neck. “I love you, Stevie. I love you so much and I’m gonna take real good care of you, I promise. You don’t gotta worry about nothing except relaxing and giving your brain a chance to get better on its own.”

Steve manages to nod. He feels a few tears brimming his eyes and he squeezes them shut. He doesn’t want to add crying into the mix, although he really, really wants to cry. He hates that he’s on such a hair-trigger on days like this. He can’t pinpoint anything specific that sets him off—he just starts crying for no reason.

Sam’s explained that it’s normal, but it doesn’t mean Steve likes it.

Bucky must feel the tension in him as he struggles to keep himself under control. Bucky shifts his arm and gently touches Steve’s face. “You go ahead and cry if you want to, sweetheart. We’ve got all day. If that’s what your head wants to do then you go ahead and do it. No sense fighting with it.”

So Steve lets himself have a little cry, sniffling into Bucky’s shirt while Bucky rubs his back and reminds him that he loves him and they’ve got all the time in the world.

When Steve’s calmed down, Bucky moves his arm off him. “Can you grab a tissue, please?” Steve shifts over to grab one from the bedside table and hands it to Bucky, who carefully cleans off Steve’s face.

“There we go. You feel a bit better?”

Steve nods. He spells out ‘a little’ on Bucky’s hand. Bucky sits up against the headboard and lets Steve snuggle up against him again. He finds Steve’s face with his hand and gives him a soft kiss. “You wanna hear a funny story?”

Steve nods against his shirt and taps Bucky on the chest. That’s always been a quick way to distract Steve. He loves hearing about funny stories, even if they’re ones he’s heard a million times before.

“Okay, let me think for a minute.”

*             *             *

Bucky chews on his lip, sorting through the many funny stories he’d used in the past to cheer Steve up. Finally, he settles on one of his favourites.

“You remember our first date with Ida?”

Tap, tap.

“You want me to remind you how it went?”

Tap.

This had always been one of their favourite stories. Even before their relationship had turned into a romantic one, Bucky had developed a reputation for being a great and fun date, but not wanting to do anything intimate or sexual. At the time, nobody had known that it was because he was secretly pining after a certain Steve Rogers.

Bucky himself hadn’t realized that for a long time.

But Bucky loved people, he loved being social, he loved going dancing and having a great time with groups of people. Steve was much more content staying at home, but the only thing Bucky loved more than spending time socializing with other people was socializing with other people when Steve was there. He loved involving Steve and making him smile and getting the chance to show people what an incredible person Steve was.

Honestly, looking back on it, he should have realized how ridiculously in love he was with the punk, but for some reason, that conclusion eluded him for a long time.

Steve would usually accompany Bucky once a week. Bucky’s free time was precious and he planned things out carefully. He’d start making inquiries at the beginning of the week, asking who was free on which day and who wanted to go out and have a great time. The older and more comfortable he got with himself, the more he allowed himself to accept invitations from both men and women. To him it made little difference and in their neighborhood, it wasn’t very eye-brow raising.

He’d make dates, hoard his pomade carefully, make sure his nice clothes were clean and mended, and then he’d be ready for a great night, either with or without Steve’s company.

Ida had moved to the Heights a few months ago. Her parents were Swedish immigrants who had come over around the same time that Mrs. R and Mr. R had. Ida had been born and raised in the Bronx, and her family had finally wised up—as far as Bucky was concerned—and moved to Brooklyn.

Unlike most new people, Ida wasn’t a shy one. She’d made eyes at him the last few times he’d seen her at the dance hall. He didn’t want to have an awkward conversation with her, so he asked Ida’s friend Mary to make sure Ida understood that he wasn’t interested in being her fella, but he’d love to take her out on a date some time and show her a good time.

Meaning, a purely _platonic_ good time.

Mary reassured him that she had explained the situation to Ida and all was good.

A few weeks later, Bucky asked Ida if she wanted to come to Coney Island with him. He reassured her they’d have a great time, and oh, by the way—his friend Steve would be coming with them.

Ida glowed happily and looked very excited. Bucky attributed her excitement to never having been at the fair before, so he gave her a big smile, told her he was excited about their date, and went home to Steve.

That Sunday, he and Steve got themselves ready and carefully counted their money to make sure they had enough for all three of them to ride the train there and back, go on a few rides and buy something to eat.

They met Ida at the Court Street Station stairwell and she waved enthusiastically as soon as she saw them. “Hi, Bucky!”

He noticed her smile froze a bit when her eyes landed on Steve, but he figured he was imagining things. Who wouldn’t be excited about seeing Steve?

“Hi, Ida! Nice to see you again!” He gestured at Steve. “You remember Steve? You guys met at the dance hall last Tuesday.”

Steve gave her his usual shy smile, mumbled a greeting and held out his hand. Ida’s smile became even more strained and she ignored Steve’s hand and didn’t return his greeting. Bucky thought that was incredibly rude, but they had a train to catch, so he hustled them down the steps.

Ida barely contributed to the conversation on the way to the fair. She responded to Bucky’s questions with monosyllabic words and a tense smile, and every time Bucky tried to draw Steve into the conversation, she glared. Between Steve’s shyness and Ida’s hostility, Bucky had no chance of getting a decent conversation going.

As they approached the admissions booth at the fair, Ida came to a halt. “Bucky, stop. I change my mind. I don’t wanna go to the fair.”

Bucky blinked at her. “Okay.” On the inside, he groused a bit over why she couldn’t have changed her mind before they paid for her train ticket, but that wouldn’t be a polite thing to say. “You want us to take you home?”

She glared at him. “Do I want _both of you_ taking me home? No!”

Bucky blinked some more. “Alright, do you just want me to take you home? Or Steve? I don’t really—”

“You’re such an idiot! The other girls said you were smart but obviously you’re an idiot!”

That was a statement guaranteed to bring out Steve’s temper. He’d been loitering on the side, giving them some privacy, but at her words, he took a few steps towards her, frowning angrily. “Hey! You don’t get to talk like that about Bucky!”

Bucky shot Steve an affectionate smile. “It’s okay, calm down. I’m sure she didn’t mean it.” He turned back to Ida. “I don’t know what brought on this snit, but I don’t like being accused of being an idiot when I’ve been nothing but kind and polite to you.”

Ida crossed her arms and glared harder. “Polite?? You ask me out on a date, you make me think it’ll be a romantic, nice date, just me and you…and then it turns out you really meant me, you and Steve?!”

“I told you I was gonna bring Steve. I remember telling you that. You smiled and said okay.”

“Because I thought you meant he’d be coming with his own girl! I thought you wanted to double date!”

Bucky gaped at her and he noticed Steve was struggling to supress a laugh. Damn it. This hadn’t happened in while.

Damn Mary. He was gonna wring that broad’s neck. “Uh, I’m real sorry, Ida, but you misunderstood.”

“Misunderstood?! All the girls say the same thing: Oh, that Bucky Barnes, he’s a great date! He’s the best there is! That’s a lot of baloney.”

That was when Bucky started getting a bit defensive. “Now, hold on a minute. I _am_ a great date. I don’t think I’m the best there is, but I know I’m a great date. I just ain’t interested in having romantic dates. I’m sorry that you misunderstood.”

“Mary told me you were the fella to go out with if I wanted to have a good time.”

“Yeah, that’s…that’s true, but I think Mary deliberately made you misunderstand the ‘good time’ part. She thought she was being real funny, and I’m gonna have a few things to say to her next time I see that girl, believe me. But that don’t change the fact that I didn’t ask you on a date because I wanted to go steady with you. I ain’t interested in that. I just like having a good time and showing girls a good time. And when I say ‘good time’, I don’t mean the way you mean it. Sorry.”

Ida shifted from one foot to the other, arms still crossed, but he could tell she was thinking about what he was saying. Her eyes drifted to Steve.

“And Steve? Why’s he here?”

Bucky frowned. What a silly question. “Because he’s my best friend and I love spending time with him? Because to me, having a good time means having Steve be part of it?”

She didn’t have an answer to that. Now she just looked sad. “So you really ain’t interested in going steady with me?”

Bucky stepped up to her, gently squeezed one of her hands and gave her a kind smile. “No, I’m sorry. I’m real, real, real sorry. You seem like a swell girl and I know there are plenty of fellas out there who’d love the chance to go on a real date with you. But that ain’t something I’m looking for right now.”

She still looked sad, so Bucky dropped his hand. “Alright, come on, I’ll take you home. Steve, you wanna stay or—”

“What if I wanna stay?” Ida asked.

Bucky looked at her, surprised. “Really?”

She shrugged. “You did promise me I’d get to ride the Cyclone and you’d win me a teddy bear, didn’t you? You gonna wreck _all_ of my expectations of you?”

Bucky smiled. She returned the smile with a smirk of her own.

“Well, alright then. Let’s go get you on the Cyclone.”

“No, wait.” Ida lost her smirk and stepped up to Steve. They both stared at each other for a few seconds before Ida cleared her throat and scuffed her shoes on the pavement. “Listen, Steve. I’m real sorry that I was so rude.”

Steve shook his head. “No, it’s okay. I understand. You thought tonight was gonna be one thing and it turned into something else. I understand why you were upset.”

She nodded. Then she stuck her hand out. “Let’s start again. My name’s Ida.”

Steve smiled and shook her hand. “Steve. Nice to meet you.”

She hooked her arm through Steve’s and then waved her other arm in Bucky’s direction. “Come on, Bucky Barnes. Time for you to win me some teddy bears. Let’s see if you really are the best date in town.”

And that’s how Ida had entered their lives. She’d been a regular part of their date nights for a few years, and she was one of the few girls who took a shine to Steve, and who Steve actually liked interacting with. The three of them went dancing together, went to the pictures, strolled along the river and went to Coney Island when the fair was open. She’d eventually found somebody to go steady with and the last time they’d seen her, she’d gotten married and was moving to back to the Bronx—despite Bucky’s protests.

Steve’s laughing against his chest when Bucky finishes re-telling the story.

Steve spells out: ‘best date there is’ on his hand and then starts laughing again.

Bucky gently smacks him over the head. “Hey! That part was true and you know it.” He’s happy that Steve had enjoyed the story, but now that it’s over, he can feel Steve started to get glum again. He seems to get heavier as he’s lying on Bucky’s chest, as if the weight of his depression is pressing down on him again. Well, he ain’t letting the grumminess win, that’s for sure.

“Hey, you hungry?”

*             *             *

Steve doesn’t answer. He’s a little hungry but the thought of going out into the kitchen is so overwhelming that he’d rather starve. Now that he’s not thinking about Ida anymore, that black, heavy sludge is taking over again, weighing him down.

Bucky interprets his silence correctly. He kisses Steve’s forehead. “I’ll go get us some cereal, sweetheart. You just relax.”

Bucky heads out into the kitchen to make them cereal. Steve rolls onto his side and watches Bucky’s progress.

Bucky goes into the kitchen and carefully pulls out two bowls and two spoons. He finds the cereal container on the counter, opens it and finds the small cup inside it which he uses to transfer cereal into both bowls. He opens the icebox, finds the small milk carton by feel and pulls it out.

When Steve had come out of the ice, he had first gravitated towards buying milk in glass jugs. He hadn’t even thought about it—milk was supposed to come in glass jugs and that was that.

But once Bucky started getting more independent around the apartment, Steve had realized how difficult simple tasks in the kitchen were for him. Bucky wasn’t doing anything remotely close to cooking, but doing things which other people took for granted—like opening a bag of chips or pouring milk over a bowl of cereal—became complex tasks which either required Steve’s help, or an adaptation for Bucky to do on his own.

Like they had done when Bucky started washing the dishes, they used a combination of doing research and applying some thinking to help Bucky accomplish most of the tasks he wanted to do on his own. Bucky had discovered that if he shook the chips in a bag to the bottom and then gently squeezed in the middle, the pressure would eventually pop open the top of the bag without chips exploding everywhere.

Pouring liquids remained a very difficult task, not just because of Bucky’s blindness, but because he only had one hand to do it. Every step was difficult and filled with the potential for disaster. Bucky couldn’t see where he was pouring, he couldn’t see how much he was pouring, he couldn’t steady the container he was pouring into, and holding up a heavy liquid filled container put a lot of strain on his right arm, wrist and hand. After living through some big spills and broken jugs, Steve had looked for better milk container options.

He stopped buying milk in the heavy, big glass jugs and instead he buys pint sized paper cartons. The square shape of the container and the smaller size make it easier for Bucky to hold, aim and pour. They’ve stopped buying large cartons of juice all together and stick with the small juice boxes. It removes the need for pouring—and any process that allows Bucky to skip some steps is always welcome.

Bucky carefully brings the milk carton to the table, then goes back to the kitchen twice more, once to get his bowl of cereal with the spoon in it, and again to get the small rimmed tray. He has a seat at the table, puts the bowl on top of tray and carefully pops open the milk carton.

He holds the carton and carefully holds out his pinky finger, looking for the rim of the bowl. He finds the rim and touches the cereal inside the bowl to verify his findings. He’s careful not to touch the carton to the rim of the bowl—he’d learned the hard way that applying any pressure against the bowl will make it start to shift and slide. Then he starts pouring. By now, Steve knows that Bucky knows exactly how far to tilt the carton (based on how full it is) and how long he needs to pour to get the right amount of milk in his bowl.

When he puts the carton back down, he carefully touches the tray around the bowl. Steve can tell by the smile on Bucky’s face that he’s realized that he hadn’t spilled a drop.

Honestly, Steve thinks Bucky’s ready to do pouring without the tray, but Bucky still feels more comfortable with it there, so Steve lets him be.

Steve watches Bucky get up and carefully bring the milk back to the icebox, then he finds his way back to the table and sits down to eat.

Fierce pride is glowing in Steve’s chest. Not only did Bucky make himself the bowl of cereal all by himself, but he didn’t spill anything or break anything, and he didn’t need his cane.

The cane is still tucked in its holster on the bedside table next to Steve, and Bucky barely touched any of the furniture along the way to orient himself. Steve is thrilled that Bucky’s fear had receded so quickly after they got the cane repaired and ordered the spare. Bucky’s confidence and strength always amaze him.

Steve realizes there’s a proud smile on his face, which doesn’t usually happen on days like this.

“Well how about that, Buck? You’re so amazing that even my sad head can’t help but—”

“I’ll get your bowl to you as soon as I’m done, sweetheart,” Bucky calls over as he digs into his cereal.

When Bucky’s done, he puts his bowl into the sink and brings Steve his bowl. He goes and gets the milk from the icebox and brings it to Steve.

“Thanks, Buck,” Steve says, squeezing Bucky’s hand as soon as he’s put the milk carton down. Bucky smiles and slides onto the bed.

Bucky finds Steve’s head and kisses his forehead. “End of the line, idiot. That’s how it is. End. Of. The. Line.”

Steve smiles and grabs Bucky’s hand to give it another squeeze.

He sits up and fills the cereal with milk and starts eating. Bucky goes to put the milk away and comes back into the bedroom.

He carefully touches Steve to figure out how and where he’s sitting, then he slowly slides in behind him, trying not to jostle him. Once he’s situated, Bucky gently rubs Steve’ belly and kisses his neck, letting him relax against him while he eats.

When Steve’s done eating, Bucky puts his dishes into the sink and comes back to bed. Steve curls up against him. While this comfort doesn’t erase his gloominess, it does lighten the dark feelings a bit.

Bucky’s rubbing Steve’s back in slow, comforting strokes. “You in the mood for another story?”

Steve taps his stomach.

“How about a Stevie Bear and Bucky Bear story?”

Steve smiles and lets out a chuckle. “We ain’t kids no more, Buck.” He fumbles for Bucky’s hand so he can spell that on his palm.

Bucky makes a dismissive noise. “It don’t matter how old we are. You’re sick and you need to get your mind off being sick. The best way to do that is with a funny story or a Bear story. It’s always been that way, but if you really ain’t in the mood then I’ll think of another funny story.”

“No, no, I want a Bear story.”

“You want an original or an old one?”

“Can you do originals still?”

Bucky lightly smacks him over the head. “Are you kidding me? Can I do originals? Punk. Get ready, this is gonna be the best Stevie Bear and Bucky Bear story you’ve ever heard. Just let me think for a minute.”

Bucky spends a few minutes making up a story in his head, his hand rubbing Steve’s back while thinks.

“Alright, I’m ready. Are you ready?”

Steve taps him on the stomach.

“Okay, here we go.”

The story’s about Stevie Bear’s ma telling him he can’t play stickball with the other kids until he finished washing the milk jugs.

That makes Steve laugh, because that’s something Bucky’s pulled straight out of their childhoods.

Bucky chuckles. “That sound familiar to you, punk? Yeah, I thought so.” He tightens his grip around Steve and pulls the blanket up tighter around Steve’s ears before continuing. He keeps his hand within reach of one of Steve’s hands so he can ask him questions if he needs to.

Sometimes Bucky gets overly excited while storytelling and leaves some plot holes.

Steve always manages to find even the smallest holes, even if he’s barely conscious. He takes great pride in that.

When Stevie Bear goes to wash the milk jugs, he discovers they’re missing. Of course, he goes to get Bucky Bear right away and they go searching for the milk jugs. It turns out that mean old Hydra Bear has stolen the jugs to make sure that Stevie Bear isn’t allowed to play stickball tomorrow. Hydra Bear knows that Bucky Bear won’t play if Stevie Bear isn’t allowed to play. The two of them follow clues from the Heights all the way to Brooklyn Bridge, where they’re hidden in a box placed at the highest point of the bridge.

Steve listens to the story with a smile on his face. Like with the Ida story, it does the job of distracting Steve from the war his body is waging against him.

It’s not surprising that Bucky knows exactly what kind of stories Steve needs to hear on days when he’s sick.

Bucky Barnes has nearly 20 years of experience taking care of him when he’s not feeling well and except his ma, there’s never been anybody Steve trusts more to take care of him on days like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [Kelsey_Fantasy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kelsey_Fantasy/pseuds/Kelsey_Fantasy), who came up with the brilliant idea for the 'Me, You and Steve' scene and for providing Ida's name and her background.
> 
> (if you haven't heard 'Me, You and Steve' by Garfunkel and Oates, do yourself a favor and go [listen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rD2PrJVfFt0) to it. It's the funniest Stucky song!)


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of this chapter is a flashback to the 1930s. Make sure you have your tissues handy.

Hearing a Stevie Bear and Bucky Bear story always reminds Steve of his ma.

He remembers one of the few toys he had when he was young was a teddy bear his ma had sewn for him. She had stuffed it with old newspapers and some old socks which were beyond repair. The bear hadn’t looked very good and he wasn’t very cuddly, but Steve loved that bear.

That bear was Stevie Bear.

Because Stevie Bear couldn’t be washed without being destroyed, Stevie Bear couldn’t keep Steve company when he was sick.

So his ma started telling him about the adventures that Stevie Bear would go on while Steve was sick. If Steve had to go to the hospital, Stevie Bear would always bring a treat back from his adventure—like taffy or caramels—which Steve got to enjoy when he got back home.

When he befriended Bucky and Bucky first met Stevie Bear, he was fiercely jealous. He never had a stuffed animal, and even if Mrs. Barnes managed to find the material to make one, four year old Elsie would have been first in line, followed by six year old Laura. Bucky tried to hide his jealousy and explained that he was eight years old, which was way too old for teddy bears—according to him—but he was quick to say that Steve could have teddy bears as long as he wanted, since he spent a lot of time in scary places like hospitals and doctor’s offices.

But despite his stoic front, Bucky was overcome with joy when Steve’s ma made him his very own teddy bear. Of course, the bear’s name was Bucky Bear.

Bucky Bear lived at the Rogers’ so the Barnes girls wouldn’t get jealous and Steve’s ma said that Bucky Bear needed to stay with them so he could protect Stevie Bear. It wasn’t until years later that Steve understood that Mr. Barnes wouldn’t have liked that his son was being given toys by ‘that Irish woman’ and he would have probably thrown Bucky Bear into the trash and broken Bucky’s heart.

Stevie Bear and Bucky Bear went on a lot of adventures together, and it wasn’t very long before Bucky became the main storyteller. Even when his ma was there, Bucky would be the one making up the stories. Whether he was sitting on Steve’s bed, on a chair next to his hospital bed, or right outside the apartment door, Steve can’t count how many Stevie Bear and Bucky Bear adventures he’s heard.

When Steve wasn’t too contagious to have the bears near him, Bucky and his ma would act out the stories with the bears. Steve’s blanket covered feet became tall mountains which the bears climbed over and Steve’s belly would be a nice meadow where they slept.

All this thinking about the teddy bears is making him miss his ma.

Not counting the time he spent in the ice—which wasn’t real time for him anyway—she’s been gone just over ten years now.

And he still misses her just as badly as he did ten years ago.

He misses her smile. He misses her sitting on his bed with him when he was sick, stroking his hair and telling him about all the wonderful things they were going to do when he got better. He misses her teaching him how to cook, how to wash his clothes and how to knit and darn, and most importantly how to do all those things very well with only minimal and cheap supplies.

He misses her teaching him how to sketch. On Sundays after church, she’d tell him to pull out their art supplies, which consisted of scraps of paper that had enough room to draw something and little stubby pencils which they sharpened with knives and used until they became nothing but smudges under their fingers. Steve would sometimes get little sketchpads and packs of pencils for Christmas or for his birthdays and he always rationed them out very carefully.

When he got older, he saved the ‘good’ sketching supplies for making money drawing people down by the river or by the beach when he couldn’t find reliable work.

Steve would pick something to sketch, and she’d make her version first, showing Steve what order to draw things in and how to hold the pencil differently to make different lines or shades. Then it would be Steve’s turn. Steve’s hand would cramp up really easily so she showed him different ways to hold he pencil so he could draw for longer periods of time without his hand hurting so badly. Sometimes Bucky would come home with them after church and he’d sit by the window reading whatever was available while Steve and his ma sketched.

Steve remembers how he’d brought her a sketch he’d done when he went to visit her at the sanatorium that last time.

He was eighteen years old and got hired at the picture house a few months before. He had to wear a snazzy uniform jacket as part of the job, which was very exciting, because the only other uniform he’d ever worn was his school uniform.

He wasn’t allowed to bring the uniform home, but Bucky had snuck into the picture house a few times and seen what he looked like. His ma had already been at the sanatorium when he got the job, so he’d been patiently waiting for her to get better so he could bring her to the picture house and show her how professional he looked. But as the months went by, Steve realized there was a possibility that even if she got healthy, she might not be allowed in the picture house on account of having had TB.

So he drew a sketch of himself in his uniform, greeting the visitors to the picture house and taking their tickets.

At first he stubbornly insisted to Bucky that he’d show it to her when she came home. Bucky didn’t like arguing with him about his ma’s situation, because it would always lead to Steve getting angry that he wasn’t allowed to visit her. Then Bucky would have to argue back and they’d go to bed angry with each other. Even though it was winter and it was damn cold in the apartment, Steve would deliberately keep an inch of space between them on the bed.

When Bucky came home from visiting his ma that one time, his eyes red and puffy and filled with grief, Steve nearly had a heart attack, thinking that she’d already passed. When Bucky couldn’t get his mouth to form any words, Steve gave him a hard shake, demanding that Bucky at least shake or nod his head to tell him if she was gone or not.

“Not yet,” Bucky managed to get out, before bursting into tears.

They stood there in the small apartment, surrounded by his ma’s scent and his ma’s things, holding each other and sobbing.

Finally, Bucky calmed down enough to tell him that his ma wanted to see him one last time.

Before Steve could run straight out the door, Bucky yanked him down into a nearby chair and told him that Steve needed to be smart about this, because if Bucky lost both Mrs. R and Steve at the same time, he’d be a walking corpse for the rest of his life—and his sisters and his ma deserved better than that. So it was Steve’s responsibility to keep his sisters and his ma happy.

They came up with a detailed plan and took the next day off work. Bucky was staying at home with a pot of boiling water ready on the stove and the larger tub filled with soapy water. As soon as Steve got back, he’d take off his shoes and his clothes and give them to Bucky to boil, and he’d get into the bath and scrub himself clean.

He had to time his visit so it would take place during his ma’s outside hours, and he wasn’t allowed to get within three feet of her. Bucky made him pull on two sets of clothes as well as Bucky’s thick work gloves before he was deemed covered up enough to leave the apartment.

He started to sweat while Bucky was still fussing with his clothes and for the first time in his life, he walked down a Brooklyn street in the spring, sweating like it was mid-August. When he got to the sanatorium and had to put on a mask and gown, he felt like he was going to suffocate or pass out before he even got to his ma. But everybody around him kept reassuring him that heat was good and it would keep him safe, so he kept his mouth shut and followed the signs to the outdoor patient area.

The second he got back outside, the stifling heat cooled a bit and he felt much better. All of the patients were together in the area so Steve wandered from bed to bed, peering into the gaunt, sickly faces,  trying to find his ma.

He barely recognized her and nearly walked past her bed, until he saw the familiar cross necklace around her neck. It was made out of cheap copper and Steve didn’t remember it ever being a color other than green, and it always left stains on her neck. But Steve knew she’d gotten it from her ma before she’d left Ireland. There was no other person who would be wearing a necklace like that.

He nearly burst into tears when he got his first look at her.

She was so thin and pale. Her eyes were sunken in and her whole body trembled with each breath.

But it was still his ma and he hadn’t seen her in months. He hurried towards her. “Ma! Ma, it’s me!”

Despite being so ill, her eyes lit up when she saw Steve coming down the aisle. “Steve! Oh, my Stevie! My darling boy! Don’t you dare come any closer than that chair, young man.” She groped underneath her and pulled out a mask which she quickly tied around her mouth and nose.

Steve dutifully skid to a halt a few feet from the foot of her bed. He was too anxious and excited to sit down. He wanted to touch her so badly, just to reassure himself that she was really there. “Ma, I’ve missed you so much.”

She smiled at him sadly, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I can’t even put into words how much I’ve missed you, my boy. I’m sorry about all this, Stevie.” He was so happy to hear that Irish accent. He spent plenty of time around other Irish immigrants, but his ma always sounded different to him.

“It ain’t your fault, ma. It was bound to happen.”

She pursed her lips, displeased. “I should have been smarter. I shouldn’t have taken that job.”

“You _are_ smart, ma! You took that job because nobody else wanted it. You wanted to help people and you’re one of the bravest people ‘round here, so it makes sense that you’d do it.”

She sighed softly. “I—” Her voice dissolved into a coughing fit and she quickly pulled her blankets over her head, flapping a frantic hand in Steve’s direction while she did it.

Steve dutifully covered his already-covered mouth and nose with his gloved hands. He’d been warned by Bucky about this a million times.

When she was done coughing, she pulled her head out from the blankets and slumped back against the pillows keeping her propped up. Her entire body trembled and she struggled to catch her breath.

Steve’s feet had moved without his consent and he was by her side in an instant, his hands reaching out to comfort her.

“Steve, no!” She shrunk back, trying to put as much distance between them as she could.

Steve struggled not to cry. “Ma, I can’t just sit over there. Not when I’ve missed you so much. Please! It ain’t fair.” His voice cracked as his throat tightened.

She gave him a long look, then finally lay back against her pillows. “Alright. Pull the chair closer. But you’re keeping Bucky’s gloves on and as soon as I start coughing, you’re five feet away this bed, you hear?”

He nodded frantically and went to pull the chair closer. They argued a bit over where to put the chair, then he finally sat down and reached out his gloved hands towards her.

He grasped one of her thin, frail hands and clung to it.

He could tell she was trying to squeeze his hand back, but she was weak and the gloves were thick, so he could barely feel anything.

She gave him a weak smile. “So, tell me how everything’s going. Bucky’s been telling me the rent’s been paid and you’ve both been working.”

He nodded. “Yeah. We’ve been fine, ma. Well, not really fine. We miss you and it ain’t the same without you there, but we’re managing.”

“Bucky told me Baby Becca’s still having trouble at school. He says you’ve been helping her with her school work.”

Becca had started school last fall and she’d had a tough time since the start. “Yeah. She—she can’t read real well. Keeps saying the letters are dancing around. I think she’s just being silly, but we’re all trying to help her. She’s already gotten paddled more than the rest of the class put together.”

She asked him more questions about different things, then she asked him about the picture house.

He remembered his sketch, but he wanted to set the scene first, so he told her how he’d been hired and about his uniform and his duties.

She smiled and Steve saw the pride burning in her eyes. “I bet you look real handsome in that uniform, hmm?”

He grinned and dug underneath the hospital gown and into his jacket pocket to pull out the sketch. He held it out to her but she pulled her hand back. “Steve, if I touch it, you can’t take it back. You can’t clean paper, you know that. It’s like Stevie Bear, remember?”

He shook his head. “I made it for you, ma. It’s yours to keep.”

She took the sketch and looked at it for a long moment, her eyes shimmering with tears. “Thank you, darling. You look as handsome as I thought you would. Look at those buttons!” She went on to compliment his shading and how nicely he’d draw his hair and his hands. She also liked how he’d drawn a ticket stub in his hand because “you know how important the details are, Stevie.”

He responded with: “I know, ma. You’ve told me a million times.”

She put the sketch down next to her and reached her hands back to clasp Steve’s gloved ones.

“Sweetheart, there’s something we have to talk about.”

He didn’t like the change in her tone and he shrugged, trying to appear casual. “Alright. About what?”

She tightened her grip on his hands as much as she could and looked at him very seriously. “I don’t have much time left. Like I told Bucky, my train’s getting to the end of its line and there isn’t anything anybody can do about it. It’s not gonna happen tomorrow—I can feel I have a few weeks left—but I don’t want you or Bucky to come back after today. Right now, I’m a bit weak, but I’m still your ma. But in a few weeks, if either of you came back, I wouldn’t be the same person anymore. I wouldn’t recognize either of you and I’d look much worse than I do now, and sweetheart, I know that would really upset both of you. I don’t want you both to remember me like that. Bucky and I already said our goodbyes the last time he was here, and you and I will do the same today.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but she shook her head. “No, please. This is what I want. This is my last gift as a mother to her son. You understand?”

He must have had that stubborn frown on his face which she could recognize even though she could only see his eyes. She gave his hands a shake. “Don’t be stubborn about this, Steve, please. I want you to remember me like this.”

“So—” His eyes welled up with tears and he barely managed to get the words out. “So, what—I’m not gonna see you again? This is the last time? That’s not—I can’t—ma, that ain’t gonna work for me.” He shook his head vigorously, as if that would make the entire situation go away. “No. Sorry. That ain’t gonna work for me.”

“Stevie—”

“No. No, no, _no_.” He was getting louder and he was practically shouting, half his words being choked out through the tears that were soaking into the mask covering his face.

“I can’t—ma, I can’t do that. Ma, I still—I—I need you. I need you to come home and I need you to be my ma. And Buck needs you to be his ma too. We can’t—we can’t do this without you. No.”

She squeezed his hand again. “I know it’s not fair, sweetheart and I know we didn’t plan it like this. I’m so sorry. But you’re wrong—you _can_ do this without me—”

Steve stubbornly shook his head, feeling like he was much younger than his eighteen years. “No—”

“Yes, you can. I _know_ you can. You and Bucky will take care of each other and you’ll be fine. You both have a long way to go ‘til you’re at the of your lines and if you help each other, it’ll be fine. I’m sure about that. Besides, I’ll be with you every day, sweetheart. I’ll be watching over you, I promise.”

“But I still—I still need you, ma. I can’t—I don’t want to lose you.”

The tears which clung to her lashes since Steve arrived started rolling down her face. Her hand twitched in Steve’s grasp as if she wanted to reach out and touch his face, but she remembered how dangerous that would be and stopped herself in time.

“I know you don’t. But what do I always say about wanting things?”

Steve swallowed a few times until he had his voice back. “Wanting things and getting things are two different things.”

“Exactly. The good Lord decided that now’s my time to go to your pa, and it doesn’t matter to him whether you and I agree with Him or not. It’s my time to go and that’s that.”

Steve remembers that was the moment where he first starting being unimpressed with the good Lord and His shenanigans.

And that was before the war, before Hydra and before SHIELD.

“But—but Buck and I _need_ you, ma. We—we’re gonna miss you too much.”

She squeezed his hand and gently stroked it with her thumb. She gave him a sad smile. “I know you will. But I’ll still be with you. I’ll be watching over you every single day, I promise. You and Bucky will take care of each other and you’ll both be fine. Promise me, sweetheart. You’ll take good care of each other.”

He could barely breathe through his tears. “I—I promise, ma. I promise.”

Steve can’t remember the rest of their conversation. Somehow he got himself back home and he vaguely remembers Bucky helping him take off the layers of clothes. He remembers he was standing by the stove one second, and the next second Bucky was toweling him dry and pulling him into bed.

They spent the night sobbing in each other’s arms, both of them knowing they’d never see her again.

She died three weeks later on May 8, 1937.

Steve and Bucky handled their grief very differently.

Bucky threw himself into work and refused to think about Steve’s ma.

On the other hand, Steve couldn’t _stop_ thinking about his ma. He couldn’t focus enough at work and ended up being fired from his job at the picture house. That led to a big fight with Bucky, because for the first time in their lives, making the rent on the Rogers’ apartment was solely Bucky’s responsibility.

But Steve wasn’t in the right frame of mind to care about such things. Steve had always had a quick temper but after his ma’s death, his temper was on a hair trigger. He treated anything that Bucky said as an invitation to start a fight. He got into stupid, pointless arguments with shop owners, their neighbors, their friends, the Barnes’—anybody who happened to be unlucky enough to stumble across Steve’s path.

Things finally reached a boiling point when Steve jumped the turnstiles at the train station and was confronted by an annoyed older man. Instead of just apologizing, Steve unleashed his temper on the man, telling him to mind his own business and calling him all sorts of rude things. A man Steve’s own age got angry at Steve’s outburst and within seconds, the punches started flying.

They were broken up by bystanders. Steve heard somebody say that the police had been called, so he got himself out of the station as fast as possible. He limped home, bloody, still angry and feeling like the world was against him.

It hadn’t been the first pointless fight that Steve had gotten into, but it was definitely the first where Steve had been in the wrong from the start.

And once Bucky got home and got to the bottom of the story, Bucky completely lost it. He was exhausted from working constant double shifts to try to make rent and put food on the table, and Steve was busy getting into stupid fights with people. Steve yelled back that he never asked for Bucky’s help and this was his home, not Bucky’s.

Then Bucky stormed out.

He came back a few days later when the rent was due with the last of the money they needed to cover it, by which point Steve had calmed down too. He realized while Bucky had been gone that they no longer had his ma to play mediator between them. If they didn’t resolve their problems on their own, nobody would help them.

Steve apologized for saying stupid things and letting his temper get a hold of him.

Then Bucky put his foot down and told him that it was time to move out of the Rogers’ apartment and find a smaller, more affordable place. They hadn’t been able to buy meat for two weeks, and it was high time to start paying off Mrs. R’s sanatorium bill and the funeral bill. Not paying off their bills would lead to bigger problems, and Mrs. R would be the first to say they were being idiots for spending money on an apartment they didn’t need instead of buying food to keep themselves healthy.

Steve started shaking his head before Bucky even finished talking. This was the apartment he’d grown up in, this was the apartment that had his ma’s things in it and this was the apartment he wanted to stay in.

Bucky pulled Steve down to sit on the bed and pressed their foreheads together.

“You know she hated people who spent money on things they didn’t need. You don’t need this apartment, Stevie. If you leave this place, you ain’t leaving her. She’s gonna go with you wherever we go.”

Then Steve burst into tears, which made Bucky cry too.

It was the first time they cried together since Steve had come home from the sanatorium.

Steve insisted on being the one to find them a new apartment. It had been his stubbornness that made them stay in the Rogers’ old apartment for so long, so he wanted to do the work.

His ma didn’t have many things anyway so they took all of her belongings with them. As the years went on, they sewed her old clothes together to make new jackets, curtains and blankets. Her old sketches were pinned to the new apartment’s walls right next to Steve’s. Over time, the pencil lines faded so Steve would retrace her lines to bring them back to life.

And once a week, they visited his ma’s grave.

It took a few months until Bucky was accepting invitations to go drinking after work or going out dancing again. Bucky would always come home before going out so he could get changed and wash up and he’d always ask if Steve was in the mood to come.

Sometimes Steve would join him at a bar and sometimes he liked going to the dance halls. He liked listening to the music and watching the other people dance, and as long as Bucky didn’t force him to do much dancing of his own, Steve enjoyed going along. Steve’s bad back couldn’t tolerate much dancing, and he had absolutely no sense of rhythm anyway. Steve also loved watching Bucky dance—whether they were at the kind of place where Bucky was dancing with women, or the kind of place where Bucky was dancing with men—but that’s not something he’d ever told Bucky.

It took a year until Steve got the motivation and desire to sketch again. He realized he could _feel_ his ma standing next to him, watching him sketch, offering him gentle criticism and kind praise.

Whenever things got really hard and he and Bucky were hungry and tired and nothing was going right, they’d take their anger out on each other, but after cooling off and apologizing to each other, they’d reaffirm their promise that they’d both made to his ma:

Together til the end of the line.

*             *             *

“You want another story, Stevie? Or are you hungry?”

They’ve spent most of the day in bed, but Bucky could happily cuddle Steve for years without interruption, so it’s no hardship.

The only thing not making this a fantastic day is the fact that Steve’s depression is fighting with him, but Bucky thinks they’ve done a good job fighting it.

He takes his hand off Steve’s back and finds Steve’s hand so Steve can spell.

Steve doesn’t want a story and he’s not very hungry.

He tells Bucky he’s been thinking about his ma.

Bucky smiles sadly. “She’d be so proud of you, you know that, right?”

Steve tells him she’d be proud of both of them.

Bucky chuckles. “I think she’s still killing herself laughing at the fact that somehow, us two dumb goofs managed to survive the war, get lost for seventy years and then somehow found each other again—and we’re living in the Heights! Can you imagine what she’d say?”

Steve tells him she’d say ‘I told you so’.

“Huh? Why?”

Steve reminds him that she told them if they took care of each other, they’d be together til the end of the line.

That makes Bucky laugh. “Mrs. R always knew what she was talking about, didn’t she? Smartest lady I’ve ever known.”

Steve agrees.

Bucky finds Steve’s fingers and gently curl around them. “I miss her too, sweetheart. I’m glad she didn’t live to see the war. It would have been too rough for her to lose both her boys. I guess it was kinder having things happen this way, huh? But I miss her.”

Steve buries his face in Bucky’s chest and doesn’t reply. Bucky wraps his arm around Steve’s back and kisses his head.

“She’s watching over us, Stevie. I’m convinced she’s the one who pulled the strings so we ended up running into each other a few years back. She was probably real mad about all the things we’d been suffering through and she gave the good Lord a piece of her mind and told Him that it was time for us to get a break. Even if this ain’t perfect, it’s still a damn miracle and a half.”

Bucky feels Steve’s face shift against his chest. Hopefully he’s smiling.


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to both [LABB](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LABB/pseuds/LABB) and [Yoklmn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoklmn/pseuds/yoklmn), whose amazing art pieces have been a big inspiration for me. The results of that inspiration can be seen in this chapter as Steve begins a new art-related journey.
> 
> Do yourself a favor: don’t skip the art related links in this chapter. You won’t be disappointed! For the videos, you can skip through in 30 sec intervals, but the progression is amazing!
> 
> Also - I've linked to a drawing which LABB made for this chapter in the end notes. Make sure you check it out!

Steve puts the finishing touches on his sketch of a galloping horse in a pasture. He’s incredibly proud of this one. He’s spent most of his life drawing still objects, and drawing things in motion requires him to pay much more attention to the details surrounding the main character in the sketch. Now that he has access to a television and the internet, he can find reference pictures of anything he wants and if he ever gets stuck on how to sketch something properly, there are hundreds of websites and videos he can consult for help.

He hadn’t drawn a lot of horses before this, so he’d done a few practice sketches of the horse standing still before he’d attempted to draw it mid-run.

The first two versions weren’t very good. He wasn’t happy with the horse’s legs, and after erasing them too many times, the paper had started getting smudgy.

Sometimes he gets mad at himself when he realizes how much paper he’s wasting, until he remembers that he has a dozen sketchpads and he can buy himself hundreds more if he wants.

But this time, he thinks he did a great job. He grins down at the picture. The horse’s legs are positioned in a way that leaves no doubt that it’s running across the grassy field, and the fact that it’s tail and mane are streaming in the wind helps add to that effect.

“What do you think of that, ma? I think it looks great.” He can picture her pleased smile and the proud twinkle in her eyes. He knows what she’d say next: “Tomorrow after work, we’ll rush through dinner and then we’ve got to re-organize the pictures on the walls. This one needs to go into the best spot in the art gallery!”

The ‘best spot in the art gallery’ was over their bed—far enough away from the window so the sun wouldn’t bleach it, and far enough away from the front door to avoid catching a fatal draft which had carried quite a few of their sketches into or onto the stove.

Yes, this one would definitely go into the best spot in the art gallery. Steve realizes he hasn’t actually picked a ‘best spot in the art gallery’ in this apartment yet. He’d hung up his and Bucky’s art on every wall and surface he can find, but they haven’t picked an official ‘best spot’ yet. He thinks it’s about time they do that.

“Buck! I’m done the horse! Come look!” He presses the motion sensor on his arm band and waits until Bucky finds him. While he’s waiting for Bucky to find him, he takes a picture of the sketch with his phone and texts it to Natasha and Sam with the message ‘ _Finally – success!_ ’.

“Hey, Stevie. What are you doin’?”

“I’m done the sketch,” Steve tells him, spelling the words on his hand. He pulls the sketch off the table and holds it up for Bucky to see.

“Oh, the one with the horse? Are you done the running version or did you do a standing one again?”

Opening his mouth, he’s about to point out that Bucky should stop asking stupid questions when the sketch is right in front of his face…

…and that’s when Steve realizes that Bucky doesn’t know whether the horse is standing still or running because he can’t see the sketch.

Damn it. Steve forgot again.

_Damn! It!_

His good mood evaporates. He stares at Bucky and sees that Bucky’s smile is a bit strained and his jaw is clenched.

Bucky is probably struggling with the exact same thing Steve’s struggling with.

Realizing he has no idea what to say, Steve tries to be casual as he drops Bucky’s hand. His phone buzzes on the table, probably containing replies from Natasha or Sam about the sketch. He’d been looking forward to hearing their feedback, but now that excitement has evaporated.

Not being able to share his art with his ma anymore is something he’s slowly accepted.

But he’s always been able to share his art with Bucky.

Showing his art to Bucky has always been part of his routine. Although Bucky couldn’t draw well and never expressed a desire to learn how to improve, he had always been happy to discuss art related things with Steve and his ma. He’d loved examining their sketches and picking out all the tiny details which most other people would have overlooked, but which Steve spent a lot of time on.

Showing his art to Bucky wasn’t just part of his routine, it was a part of what made him love doing art. It wasn’t the only thing he loved about it, but it was a big part.

He loved sharing his art with Bucky.

And now—

Now that wasn’t possible any more.

He hadn’t really felt the desire to sketch when he’d come out of the ice, and the few doddles he’d done weren’t anything he’d been impressed by. It hadn’t bothered him that he hadn’t had anybody he felt comfortable sharing his art with.

When he and Bucky had started communicating better and he’d finally gotten the desire and motivation to regularly pick up a pencil again, he’d been so rusty that he’d been happy to tell Bucky what he was working on, but he didn’t want to go into too much detail. Knowing that Bucky couldn’t see the sketches was okay if Steve wasn’t happy with the sketch anyway.

But this is the first time Steve’s finished something he’s really, really proud of, and those emotions had overwhelmed him and he’d forgotten the reality of their current situation.

Bucky must have realized that Steve had come to the same conclusion as him, on account of Steve’s prolonged silence. Bucky unclenches his jaw and turns his head in Steve’s direction and gives him a bigger—but still strained smile.

“I don’t gotta see it to know it looks amazing, Stevie. I’m real sorry I can’t see it for real so I can’t tell you all the things I love about it, but I know you did an awesome job. You can describe it to me if you want. Here—”

Groping for the chair at the table, he sits down next to Steve. He feels through the air until he finds the sketch. He tugs it from Steve’s hands, puts it on the table and gently lays his fingers on the flat paper.

“We can start with the horse’s face. Where’s his face? You wanna put my fingers on the face and then you can describe it?”

Steve’s starting to feel angry for some reason. He sits there, angry and sad, while Bucky tries to keep that brave smile on his face.

Finally, Steve reaches over, lifts Bucky’s fingers where they were touching the grass beneath the horse’s running hooves and moves his fingers to the horse’s face.

He knows—he _knows_ that the two spots on the paper must feel almost identical to Bucky, despite the completely different pencil strokes which are covering them.

“Okay, that’s the face? Great! Tell me about it.”

Steve has no idea how to start. “It’s just a horse, Buck. There’s—it’s just a horse. It’s got a mane and a tail and it’s got a normal face.”

Turning Bucky’s hand over, he spells out ‘normal’. He realizes he’s pressing his fingers harder into Bucky’s palm than normal, and he knows Bucky can feel it.

Bucky closes his fingers over Steve’s fingers, interrupting his spelling. Gently, he brings Steve’s fingers to his lips and gives them a kiss.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I really am. I know describing it ain’t the same. That ain’t what you want. We want the same thing. We both want me to see what you made, but that just ain’t possible.” Bucky draws in a shaky breath and swallows hard. Steve can tell he’s struggling not to cry.

Steve’s having similar problems.

“I—I don’t know what to say, Stevie. I want you to talk to me about your art. I wanna be part of that. But I can’t be part of the whole routine anymore. Did you show it Nat and Sam?”

Steve taps his hand. Then he tells him it’s not the same thing.

Running his hand up Steve’s arm, he brushes past the leather bracelet and the motion sensor armband until he reaches his face. He carefully pulls Steve against him and holds him tight.

“This is something we just gotta get used to. It’s just the way things are. If I—if I could have my sight back even for a few minutes a day, the only things I’d want to see are your face and your sketches.”

Steve buries his face in Bucky’s left shoulder, mindful that he isn’t pressing too hard on the scar tissue. It takes effort to keep himself from bursting into tears. He turns his head to the side so he’s not suffocating in Bucky’s shirt and stares mulishly at the shelves containing their games and art supplies. His eyes catch on a package of the waxy strings which he uses to outline some of Bucky’s art templates.

For the second time in five minutes, his brain jerks to a sudden stop.

Wait a second.

Wait. A. Second!

When Steve makes Bucky a sketch for him to use, Bucky can’t tell what it is before Steve adds on the waxy strings, or Steve traces the lines with the paper on the foam pad.

It starts as a flat sketch and he raises the lines so Bucky can feel them.

Abruptly, he pushes himself back from Bucky and stares down at his horse picture.

He can’t cover the whole thing with waxy strings—the strings are too thick and he wouldn’t be able to show details. Tracing the lines with the paper on a foam pad could allow him to do a few more details, but nothing as precise as the blades of grass or the individual hair strands of the horse’s tail.

Not to mention, the lines on the sketch are only part of it. He can’t really convey depth by raising the lines. Everything will seem to be on the same level.

But if he can cover the horse’s body in something that Bucky can feel…then he’ll be able to tell that the horse is in the front, and the flatter sky is in the background….

…but what can he cover the drawing with?

“Steve? You okay? What’s going on?”

“Buck, I think I’m on to something.” He frantically grabs Bucky’s hand and starts telling him he’s had an idea. “I don’t know if it’ll work, but I’m gonna try.”

Like their method for watching baseball, now that Steve’s on the right track, he knows he’ll be able to come up with something. It may not end up being perfect, but it’ll be better than nothing—which is what they have now.

Bucky’s eyes glow and he’s struggling not to look too excited. “That—that would be amazing. But, listen, don’t do this just for me.”

Immediately, Steve starts complaining but Bucky closes his fingers over his frantically spelling fingers. “No, listen to me. Sketching has always been one of your biggest joys. I don’t want you to spend too much time trying to make this work for me. I’d rather you spend time doing your sketching the way you wanna do it, and knowing that you’re happy will make me happy.”

Steve pulls his fingers out of Bucky’s grasp and smooths out his hand. “I’m gonna find a way that makes us both happy, Buck. That’ll be the best solution. End of the line, idiot. Now move, I gotta get the computer.”

Bucky grins—the first genuine smile he’s had since he’d come over to the table—and leaves Steve to start researching.

*             *             *

The first thing Steve does is google ‘textured art’.

He quickly realizes that all of the search results have to do with painting.

That’s the part of the puzzle he’s been missing.

He’s been so focused on the fact that his version of doing art has always included a piece of paper and a pencil, and it’s very difficult to make textured art with that medium.

But painting….

Painting might work.

One of the search results is an [article written about an artist named Justin Gaffrey](http://mymodernmet.com/justin-gaffrey-paintings/), who combined his love for sculpting and painting to make amazing textured and three-dimensional paintings.

There are multiple examples of his work, and as soon as Steve sees them, he knows this is what he needs to do.

There’s a [beautiful painting of flowers](https://mymodernmet.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/archive/O660HXOuQPoh4xK939kb_1082121289.jpeg), where every pedal and every stem is raised up to create a three-dimensional effect. The paint had been applied in such a way that Steve can see just by looking at it that he’d be able to feel not just every pedal and stem, but also the individual folds and nicks in the pedals and the notches where the stems attach to the main branches. The colors are vivid and amazing, but the tiny details which were conveyed by the thick paint would allow somebody to feel those details without the colors needing to guide their perception.

Steve scrolls through all the images and then goes to find Gaffrey’s website, where has even more pictures. There’s a [wonderful painting of an elephant](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/69/52/d7/6952d79a6054384c746632b9b1b443d3.jpg), which reminds Steve of his horse sketch. The thick paint was applied so precisely and carefully that details such as the elephant’s ear and eye are easy to tell apart from the rest of the elephant’s skin.

He finds sketches showing water waves where the dimensional changes between the water, the sun and the sky are very easy to distinguish.

But then Steve pauses.

This—this is great.

But he’s never painted anything in his entire life.

He and his ma had rarely been able to afford good paper and pencils. When they did have money for those things, they bought them because they could be used for more practical purposes than just sketching. They would have never even considered buying canvases, paintbrushes and paints, especially because the paint wouldn’t last forever like a pencil could.

This is a whole different way of doing art, and Steve has no idea if he can even do it.

More time is spent researching.

He finds out that this type of painting is done using acrylic paints. A thick paste is made, to which acrylic paint is added. The thicker the paste is, the more height can be achieved with it. The painting is also rarely done using paint brushes. People use things called palette knives or painting knives—which Steve has never heard of—and various other things to get the thick paste on the canvas.

It’s all quite complicated, and Steve is so involved in jumping from topic to topic and getting deeper into the subject, that he barely hears Bucky when he comes to tell him it’s time for bed.

Steve looks up from the computer and blinks at the darkness that’s surrounding him. He’s been so involved in the computer that he hasn’t noticed that the sun’s completely gone down. Bucky rarely remembers to turn on a light when he enters a room—for obvious reasons—so usually Steve has to do it when it gets too dark for him to see.

“Steve? You can keep reading if you want. I’m gonna go brush my teeth and head to bed.”

Bucky finds Steve’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze. Steve reaches up, pulls him down for a quick kiss and informs him he’ll be heading to bed soon too.

He waits until Bucky’s done in the bathroom, then hurries through his own routine and heads to bed, with the laptop on his lap.

Bucky might be fine going to sleep while alone on the bed if he knows that Steve’s just outside the bedroom door, but Steve doesn’t want to stress him out after the whole sketching thing. He can read on the computer while in bed just as easily as he can at the table, and he can even keep the bedroom light on and it won’t bother Bucky.

They get comfortable, exchange some more good-night kisses, Bucky tells him not to stay up too late, and then he rolls over and goes to sleep. Steve focuses back on the computer.

He figures out that this method of painting—acrylic texture painting—is pretty different from normal acrylic painting.

Unfortunately, the Gaffrey article and website don’t provide information on how to create this thick paint, but as Steve does more research, he learns more vocabulary and that leads him to better and better information.

By complete accident, he happens to see a link to one of his favourite websites, called ‘MaxiAids’, which is one of the many websites he uses to order accessible items and assistive living devices for Bucky.

He discovers that they sell ‘[tactile pens](https://www.maxiaids.com/hi-mark-tm-tactile-pen-white)’ which are full of thick paint. They can be used in the same way that Steve uses the dot stickers to differentiate amongst items or mark certain things, but Steve thinks they would be a great way to add really small details to paintings.

Finally, he stumbles across [a video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4S95_3XCNkI) that shows step-by-step how to do acrylic texture painting. The YouTube channel is called ‘Masters Art Academy’, which is slightly intimidating, but Steve figures if it’s too complicated, he can just watch something else. He might as well give it a try.

He clicks on the first video. There’s nice music playing throughout the video and Steve’s first instinct is to turn the volume down so it doesn’t disturb Bucky.

Then he remembers—and he keeps the volume as it is.

The artist demonstrates how to create some flowers. The first video shows how she applies the white texture paste, and the second video shows how to color over the dried paste with paint. That’s when Steve realizes that this is something else that makes this art unique—he can add color to the paste right away, or he can leave it white, let it dry and then add different colors on top.

He’s relieved to see that the artist does a pencil sketch on the canvas first. That’s something he knows he can do.

She uses a palette knife—now he knows what those are—to scoop up a bit of the thick paste and starts applying it to the canvas.

He realizes the way she’s using the knife is very similar to the way he’d use a pencil. She leaves large, thick ridges of paint to create raised outlines, the same way that Steve would shade outlines darker to make them more apparent. She covers the areas in between raised line with smooth strokes, barely leaving any paste on the canvas. That’s the same way he’d do light shading to cover large areas with little detail when he’s sketching.

It’s a relief to see that apparently the paste takes a while to dry. He was worried about that—with a pencil, he can always erase what he’s done, but to his knowledge, paint dries quickly and can’t be erased.

But this paste can easily be smoothed out and pushed around if the artist isn’t happy with the results. She even uses her finger to ‘erase’ mistakes, which is something Steve finds amusing. If only he could use his finger to erase his pencil mistakes, he would have wasted a lot less paper throughout his life.

Then he watches her crumple up a piece of paper and glue it into the center of the flower.

He grins. “It’s the same way you do your art projects, Buck.”

It’s a nice realization that the possibilities with this art form are endless. In addition to using the thick paste, he can glue objects onto it to add additional textures and depths.

He watches the [second video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QRrdyrZ0yyU) where she roughly adds colored versions of the paste to give the background behind the flowers texture. He finds it fascinating how she mixes the different colors to achieve different shades.

Using color is something that’s completely foreign to him—and it’s not something that Bucky would be able to appreciate—but Steve thinks it’s something he’d like to try.

This is something that’ll take a lot of practice to get right, but he thinks it would be worth it. He’d like to expand his artistic abilities anyway, and if it allows him to share his art with Bucky again, it’ll be worth it.

*             *             *

Two weeks later, Bucky’s out on the balcony, bundled up in a blanket with the heat lamp turned on. “Stevie, it’s gonna snow. I can smell it.”

Steve doesn’t doubt him. Bucky’s always been able to tell when snow is on the way.

Sure enough, it starts snowing two nights later.

Winter had always been their enemy in the past. Winter meant being cold and miserable—and in Steve’s case, being cold and miserable and sick. But now that they have money, Steve wants to enjoy winter.

It’s much nicer being outside when they’re wearing proper winter clothes and their bellies are full of warm food. Steve had been worried about the ice and snow accumulating on the sidewalks and making it dangerous for Bucky and much harder for him to identify obstacles and landmarks with his cane, but their neighbourhood is pretty good about keeping the walkways clear. Steve knows once the big snowstorms start, it’ll be a different story, but for now, it’s manageable.

Steve has to steer Bucky around some icy patches and cross the street when it gets really bad, but Bucky adjusts to the additional roughness. Steve buys them each warm winter boots that have anti-slip soles which help them maintain traction on some of the icy patches which they have to cross, so even if they can’t avoid the ice, they don’t have big problems. Bucky can tell when he’s about to encounter an icy patch based on what the cane tells him, and within a few days, he’s able to determine if the ice is thin enough not to be a problem, or if they need to slow down. For the first time, it’s Bucky who’s relaying information to Steve just as much as Steve relays information to him.

It’s a little hard doing their tactile spelling while wearing winter gloves. Bucky can’t decipher anything other than their yes/no symbols through the thick fabric so Steve has to pull Bucky to a stop, remove his and Bucky’s gloves and quickly tell him what he needs to say, before tugging their gloves back on. If he only wants to say something short, like telling him there’s a curb, he won’t bother pulling off Bucky’s glove, he’ll pull off his own glove and just slip the tips of his fingers into Bucky’s glove and spell on his hand.

Steve is very happy that they had started practicing walking outside when the weather had been nice. Bucky is comfortable and confident enough walking around now that he adjusts to the changing winter conditions and the additional dangers very quickly.

*             *             *

It takes Steve a while to gather the materials he needs to begin his painting adventures. He orders the tactile pen because he figures that’s something that will come in handy no matter how the rest of the painting adventure goes, and also buys a palette knife online. He figures they can use it as a sandwich knife if this whole thing doesn’t work out.

But he hesitates to spend money buying a lot of the expensive supplies which people in the videos had used. He doesn’t want to waste money on something that he might end up being terrible at.

So instead of buying the expensive ready-made paste, he finds some websites which list recipes for versions that can be made at home. He writes down the list of supplies he needs and then asks Bucky if he’s in the mood to go shopping.

“Actually yeah. I’m getting low on yarn. Can we stop by the yarn store?”

Steve taps his hand and tells him they also have to go to the hardware store.

“Okay. You outta nails or something?”

Steve rubs his hand. “No, Buck. I gotta get art supplies.”

Understandably, Bucky frowns. “You’re gonna get art supplies…from the hardware store?”

Steve taps his hand and laughs at the doubtful frown on Bucky’s face. “You’ll see, Buck.”

“Okay. We’ll go to the hardware store. For art supplies. Because that’s where everybody gets their art supplies. At the hardware store. Okay.”

They go to the yarn store first and Steve helps Bucky pick out new bundles of yarn in different colors for upcoming projects. Then they head to the hardware store. Bucky dutifully holds the basket slung on his arm while he lets Steve guide him along and put things into the basket.

They bring the supplies home and Steve makes a batch of white paste, and then he sits down at the table with a stack of paper and his palette knife. Upon a little reflection, he gets back up and gets several garbage bags from the kitchen which he uses to cover the table.

Unlike his pencil, this new art form has the potential to create a mess.

He makes different geometric shapes and letters and numbers, focusing on getting the edges high and crisp and making the centers smooth and even. When he makes a mistakes, he smooths the paste out with his knife or finger and starts again. Once it dries, he gets rid of that paper and grabs a new one.

When he has a collection of shapes he’s happy with, he waits until they dry and asks Bucky to guess what they represent.

They’re both thrilled when Bucky starts being able to recognize the things Steve is making.

Whenever Steve gets tired of doing simple shapes, he switches to exploring what kind of textures he can make with the paste.

They spend a lot of evenings sitting at the table across from each other, a newly purchased plastic sheet draped over the table and both of them working on their own art projects with Bucky’s art kit between them. Bucky will bring over his art kit from the shelf and spread out the little containers, grouping things together so he can find what he needs faster. Steve will get the small plastic chest of drawers from the shelf which contains the larger art supplies—like the sheets of aluminum foil, large feathers and bubble wrap. Steve is always very careful to put things back exactly where they came from so Bucky doesn’t have to waste time getting himself re-oriented just because Steve was lazy.

But it’s become second nature now for Steve to put things back where they came from, so most of the time he does it without really being aware of it.

While Bucky focuses on gluing different textures onto his templates, Steve mixes different items with the paste to create different textured pasted. He adds spices, rice, soil, flour, oats, sand and whatever else he can think of.

He combines elements of Bucky’s art with the new painting method—pressing foil, pennies and cotton swabs into the paste, or pressing different materials against the paste to create different patterns. Bucky loves it when Steve presses bubble wrap into the paste or drags a comb through it.

Steve has offered to help Bucky use the paste for his own art projects, but Bucky’s happy to stick to his own art methods. The paste takes much longer to dry than the simple glue he uses and he’s afraid of constantly messing up his work.

Whenever one of his papers dry, Steve eagerly slides it over to Bucky to get his thoughts.

Frowning, Bucky will slowly feel the entire paper, carefully figuring out what the shapes are and what textures Steve’s used. He’ll know when Steve tried something new, and he’ll be honest and tell Steve if something feels too similar to another method to be worth the extra effort, or if something feels really, really nifty.

Bucky will often pause what he’s doing and ask Steve for his opinion on what he should put in a certain part of his picture, and Steve will think it over and then reach over and tell Bucky his opinion.

It’s a lot of fun.

Even though Steve’s artistic level right now is barely more than randomly scribbling things, he loves it. He loves being able to stretch his creativity in this new way and he loves that Bucky can see exactly what he’s making.

They spend a lot evenings getting themselves and the table’s plastic sheeting covered in glue, paste and various other things, with dozens of Bucky’s little containers from his art kit spread out between them and moist rags—to clean their fingers—carefully tossed over the backs of the chairs next to them. The air is full of different scents—the plaster scent of the paste, the glue, the different spices, the soil and whatever else they’re using.

It doesn’t even occur to Steve until a few weeks into his new endeavor that he could start adding color to the paste. He had only purchased a tube of white acrylic paint to make the paste, and so far everything he’s made has been completely white, except if he presses random items into the paste.

He orders a small set of acrylic paints and starts exploring. It’s not something Bucky can help him assess, but Steve loves that the colors add a whole new dynamic to his little art pieces.

As Steve gets more familiar with using the paste, he starts working on more complex items. As a first goal, he wants to be able to replicate the flower drawing from the videos he’d watched.

His next—much bigger—goal is to create a textured version of his galloping horse sketch which Bucky will be able to see. He knows that goal is quite far off, but it’s nice knowing exactly what he’s working towards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The always incredible [LABB](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LABB/pseuds/LABB) made a drawing showing Bucky being an adorable dork and climbing into Steve's lap while he's practicing sketching the horse. You can see it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10823220/chapters/28192824)!


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank-you to [Lena7142](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lena7142/pseuds/Lena7142) for the art tips that I’ve included in this chapter! There will be lots more to come in future chapters.

“We’re gonna be fine, I promise,” Bucky tells Steve. He feels like he’s been saying the same thing for days. Steve started getting tense and annoyed about a week ago, and Bucky finally got him to admit that SHIELD’s been calling him, informing him that he needs to come in and discuss his on-going leave of absence.

Initially, Steve had refused to deal with it, but Bucky finally got him to agree to go in and at least discuss the situation. “You can quit or you can ask for more time off, but ignoring them won’t make them go away. You know they have the right to contact you when it concerns your employment status. And it ain’t really fair to leave them hanging like this just cause you don’t wanna talk to them.”

Steve had refused to leave Bucky home alone and he didn’t want to force Bucky to come along to SHIELD headquarters, so Natasha is coming to stay with Bucky.

Bucky tries to distract Steve throughout the morning, but he’s tense and moody so Bucky finally leaves him alone.

The motion sensor on his arm vibrates, letting him know that Natasha has arrived.

Moments later, he feels hands squeezing his and the hands are spelling ‘Nat’ on his palm.

“Hi Nat.”

She spells out a greeting on his hand and pulls him into a hug.

“Okay, Rogers. Off you go. We’ll be fine. Please keep hold of your temper when you’re talking to your boss. Letting yourself get riled up ain’t gonna solve anything. Remember: stay calm. You promised.”

When he feels Steve come closer, he reaches out and pulls Steve to him, wrapping his arm around him. Steve is squeezing him tightly.

Bucky uses his nose to find Steve’s chin and trace up to his cheek, which is where he puts a gentle kiss. “We’ll be fine, I promise.” He presses a soft kiss to his lips. “Nothing bad’s gonna happen. I’ll be fine and you’ll be calm and everything will work out.”

Still tense and unhappy, Steve clearly doesn’t want to leave. Bucky shoots him a grin and smacks him on the ass. “Get going. You’re gonna be late.”

Walking him to the door, Bucky waits for him to put on his boots and winter jacket. Bucky feels along the hooks of clothes next to the door and finds Steve’s new hat which he’d knit for him. He holds it out to Steve and opens the door for him, feeling the motion sensor vibrate.

Steve stands there for another moment. Bucky rolls his eyes. “Go on. The faster you leave, the faster you’ll be back. And remember: stay calm. You promised.”

Bucky feels hands on his hips, a gentle tap to acknowledge the promise, and a firm kiss is pressed to his lips.

Then Steve releases him, and the motion sensor vibrates.

The door’s closed. Steve’s gone.

He flips the deadbolt on the door and makes his way to the couch. He feels along the upholstered surface and finds Natasha’s legs before he sits down. Accidentally sitting on Steve isn’t a big deal—and mostly leads to cuddling—but he doubts Natasha would appreciate having him squish her into the couch. He finds the empty part of the couch and sits, dropping his hand on the cushion between them so she can talk to him.

“That’s a relief. I thought the punk wouldn’t actually go. He’s been making excuses all morning.”

Natasha tells him Steve isn’t happy with the situation.

“I know. I think he should just quit if he can’t stand being around SHIELD. But I don’t wanna make that choice for him. He has to decide what he wants to do.”

She asks him how Steve’s art is doing.

“Oh, fantastic! I’m so thrilled he’s been getting back into it. It’s been real weird not having him doing his art all the time. Back in the day, he used to eat his dinner with his fork in one hand and his pencil in his other. The kid’s always been nuts about his art. With everything that’s happened, I’m real happy he’s back to being inspired. He’s been working on those flowers from the video. Did he send you the link?”

Tap.

“Yeah, he’s been working on that. He ain’t using paper no more. He buys these big canvases and they have to be covered in this white paint before he starts doing anything.”

She asks why Steve made the switch.

“Oh, the plaster stuff was too heavy for the paper. When he was doing small shapes, it was okay, but the bigger things started cracking and peeling. The canvases are good.” He waves a hand at a corner of the living room. “You see his easel and the canvas?”

Tap.

“It’s got his flower painting on it, right?”

Tap. Her fingers start spelling something else, but Bucky wraps his fingers around hers to stop her.

“No, hush. I ain’t allowed to see it until it’s done. He lets me see his practice versions on paper or the small canvases, but the big masterpiece is a secret until it’s done. Don’t tell me nothing about how it looks! I wanna be surprised when it’s done.”

She promises not to spoil it.

“Thanks. Anyway, he’s got a real professional set up now, doesn’t he?”

Tap.

“And I get to help paint the canvas with the stuff before he starts adding the paste on. Priming! That’s what Steve says it’s called. Yeah, I get to help with the priming. It ain’t a big deal if I put too much of the stuff in one area, and then Steve can get all the places I miss. It’s fun.”

It’s taken them both a while to get used to the messiness of Steve’s new art. Unlike his sketchpad and pencil, he can’t just sit on the couch or the bed and work on his art. He needs a lot more supplies, a lot more space and it’s messy. Plus, he can’t just drop everything at a moment’s notice like he could with his pencil and sketchpad. He can’t multitask when he’s painting. If Steve’s waiting for a phone call, or a delivery, or if he’s eating—that’s not the time to start painting. It’s a big change from the days when he would eat dinner with one hand and work on a sketch with his other.

He also has to let Bucky know he’s painting, and if Bucky calls for him, Steve has to let him know with his motion sensor whether it’s safe for Bucky to approach, or if it’s not a good time.

When Steve had switched to using the canvas and easel and started expanding his art supply collection, Bucky had told him they needed to find a permanent spot in the living room for all his stuff, which is when they’d created the art corner. Steve had put up a new shelf where his tools and materials live, and the canvas stays propped up on an easel in the corner. Towels cover the floor beneath the easel and there’s a rope strung across the corner, which alerts Bucky when he’s getting too close.

Bucky doesn’t want to risk damaging any of Steve’s work, or causing a mess by knocking things over, so he never goes past the rope unless Steve guides him.

“Anyway, tell me what you’ve been up to. Steve says you got back from Brazil last night?”

Tap.

“How was Brazil? Tell me everything.”

They chat for a while, Natasha telling Bucky everything that she hasn’t had a chance to share with Steve yet. It’s really nice that he’ll get to share information about Natasha with Steve, rather than always having the flow of information go the other way.

Once the conversation dies down, he’s about to ask Natasha what she feels like doing, when he remembers that he’s been waiting for some time alone with her. “Oh, Nat! I’ve been waiting to ask you two things.”

She draws a question mark on his palm.

First, the not-so cheerful topic.

“What—what do you know about depression?”

Her fingers hesitate on his palm. Then she tells him she’s not an expert.

“That’s the problem—I ain’t an expert either, and I can’t use the computer to look stuff up and I can’t just call Sam and ask him. I need help getting some answers.”

She asks him what he wants to know.

“When Steve is having his bad days, I do what I can to help him and I think it makes him feel better.”

She taps his hand multiple times. She tells him it does help. She’s never been able to help him on his bad days.

Bucky blinks. “He—he’s been like this before I came home?”

There’s no immediate reply. She probably didn’t realize Bucky didn’t know and now she’s torn between her loyalty to Steve versus Bucky.

“Come on, Nat. I gotta know so I can help him get better. Has he been like this for a while?”

A hesitant tap. She tells him it’s been happening since he came out of the ice. The bad days got less frequent after Steve had discovered Bucky was alive, but they still happened.

Her fingers pause again.

“Come on, don’t quit now. Tell me.”

When the words come, they’re slow and hesitant. She admits that she’s never understood why having a bad day has such a big effect on Steve. He’s a tough, strong individual. She has bad days too, but she never spends those days sitting on the couch, staring at a wall or sleeping all day. She doesn’t understand why Steve doesn’t just get himself moving more. That would help, wouldn’t it?

“I asked him the same thing. We’ve all had bad days but we ain’t sleeping for seventeen hours a day or taking three hours to brush our teeth, are we? I’ve known the punk my whole life and I told him I know he’s tougher than that and I didn’t get why he wasn’t trying harder, but then he told me he can’t.”

Question marks are drawn on his palm.

“Literally, he _can’t_. I didn’t get it either so he explained. He says when the depression grabs him and pulls him under, it ain’t the same as having a bad day. He says it’s like his mind is flooded with huge amounts of intense sadness.”

But everybody gets sad from time to time, she points out.

“No, this is—this is like the sadness from a hundred bad days all put together and it hits you all at once. Sometimes it takes a few days to creep in, or sometimes it hits within a few hours. But the sadness is so intense that it fills his whole head. It saps his strength and it uses up every part of his brain. It’s like his whole body is completely focused on just being sad. You ever notice on those days he starts crying for no reason?”

Tap, tap.

“That’s cause there’s nothing actually making him sad, it’s just that his brain is filled with sadness. The depression is making his whole brain be sad for no reason. Sure, it gets worse if something actually makes him sad, so I try to keep things as happy as I can on those days, but that only keeps his head a bit above the water. He says the sadness is so intense that it makes his limbs feel like they weigh two hundred pounds each, and he can’t do simple things because it would require so much concentration to make his hands and feet move the way he wants, but his brain can’t help him figure out what the next step is because it’s so busy focusing on the sadness. There’s no more room in his head for anything else.”

She tells him that sounds awful.

Bucky swallows hard. “Yeah. Yeah, it does. I can’t imagine having to deal with that, especially not getting any warning. And he never knows how long it’ll last. Eventually his brain stops being dumb and turns off that flood of sadness, but it’s hard until that happens.”

He chews on his lip. “I hate that his brain just decides to randomly make him suffer like that. I can help him keep his head above the water on those days, but I can’t turn off that stupid sadness flooding his brain. And that’s what I need your help with. His brain is sick and can’t help doing what it’s doing, but I wanna know how people can heal their brain. Steve says it’s complicated.”

Tap. She agrees that it’s probably more complicated than it sounds.

“What do people do to help make it better? Not just on the bad days, but to make it permanently better?”

She tells him she doesn’t know, but she’ll look it up.

“Okay. The computer should be on the coffee table here. You want something to drink?”

Tap. A sprite, please.

“Good choice, Romanov. I knew I liked you for a reason.” Getting up, he heads to the icebox to get them two sprite cans. He takes his time and carries one can at a time so he’s not shaking them up too much. He has time to pop open his can and finish half of it before she jostles his knee.

“Hang on, let me put down my can.” Once the can is safely on the coffee table, Natasha grabs his hand and starts spelling rapidly.

It _is_ complicated. Some people are able to get better, others aren’t. Some people get better quickly, others take a long time. Some people might get better for a long time and then get sick again.

“Okay, but that doesn’t answer my question.”

She lists off a bunch of things that are supposed to help make it better: getting exercise, eating well, spending time doing things you enjoy, and living in a way that makes you feel good about yourself.

As she goes through the list, Bucky nods along. “I’ve been making him get more exercise, but we can always be doing more. I’ll keep an eye out on ways to get us moving more. He’s eating pretty good and I know he likes spending time doing the things we do together. And doing his art again is a really good step, I’m sure. I think once he gets this situation with SHIELD resolved, he’ll feel better about that too. But all those things you mentioned only help his brain be a little better. It don’t stop it from having the really bad days. How can he make his brain stop being sick?”

She tells him Steve had already tried taking medication, but it hadn’t helped.

“Yeah, he told me. What else?”

If people are having difficulty understanding why they feel the way they feel, it’s recommended that they see a therapist.

“What does that mean? What is that?”

It’s a doctor for your mind.

Ah – a psychiatrist. Bucky knows about those. They weren’t common, but they worked in mental institutions back in the 30s. He doesn’t understand how somebody like that could help Steve.

“Steve ain’t crazy. Ain’t those doctors only for people who are really whacky?”

Rub, rub, rub.

Apparently, there are many different kinds of brain doctors these days. Steve needs a doctor who will talk to him about what’s going on in his life. He can discuss what’s bothering him, what’s worrying him, what’s triggering the bad days, and the doctor can help him figure out why those things are bothering him, where those things are coming from and how to stop them from coming back. Since the flood of sadness is often triggered by bad thoughts, fixing those thoughts will help calm Steve’s brain. It won’t make the bad days stop entirely, but they’ll be less frequent.

“That—that sounds like it might help him.”

Natasha agrees, but she points out that both she and Sam had tried convincing Steve to see a therapist and he’s always refused. She tells him Steve was forced to see a therapist when he came out of the ice, but he just lied and told the therapist what she wanted to hear until she signed off on his papers.

Bucky makes a face. “That sounds like him. Didn’t wanna make a big deal out of it. He’ll shrug anything off if he thinks that his time and energy needs to be spent on helping somebody else more.”

Well, he’ll make sure Steve won’t shrug this off. “Listen, can you help find a therapist for him? Somebody who’s nice and understanding, but somebody who’ll see through that stupid Captain America smile of his?”

She reminds him that a lot of what Steve might have to discuss is sensitive information.

“So we’ll get the therapist to sign a paper forcing him or her to keep their mouth shut about what Steve says.”

Natasha says therapists have to follow that rule anyway, but she’ll draw up more specific papers to be on the safe side.

“So you’ll find him a therapist?”

She says she’ll ask Sam to handle that part, since he’s got a better background for this sort of thing. She’ll prepare the paperwork. While the two of them are working on it, Bucky needs to get Steve to agree to see the therapist.

Bucky makes a face again. “Giving me the easy job, huh?”

She points out that if anybody can do it, it’s him.

He shoots a rueful smile in her direction. “I guess that’s true. The only people that punk has ever listened to are me and Mrs. R.”

Natasha reminds him that having Steve see a therapist will probably not fix the depression. Most of the websites were clear about that.

“Yeah. But you said it might help make things a little better?”

Tap.

“Then we’ll try. If there’s no cure then all we can do is make things as good as possible.”

He decides he’s going to think of the depression as just another illness. Steve’s dealt with incurable illnesses for most of his life, and Bucky’s always been there to help him manage them. After the serum, Steve traded having a bad heart, bad lungs, a bad ear and a bad back for having a bad head, but Bucky will help him manage this new illness just like he helped him with the others.

It’s been an ongoing mission in his life: make Steve’s life as comfortable and joyful as possible, despite a body that’s trying to make him miserable.

She squeezes his hand, wishes him luck and asks him what his second question was.

It takes a second before he remembers. He’s already busy thinking over how to bring up the therapist issue to Steve.

But his second question is equally important. Well, not _equally_ important, but it’s important. “It’s gonna be Christmas soon and I need help with Steve’s present.”

She asks if he wants her to buy something for Steve.

That makes him laugh. “Oh, my God, no, no, no. We’ve never spent money getting each other presents. That’s ridiculous. We’d save up some money for Christmas, but we always spent that on extra food for a good Christmas dinner. We never spent money on presents.”

She asks him what he was thinking of getting for Steve.

“I was thinking of making him a card, but I need help. Usually Steve makes my templates for art projects, but I want this to be a surprise.”

Natasha taps his hand, seeming enthusiastic about the idea. She asks if he’s going to be writing on the card himself.

Bucky makes a face. Steve makes him practice writing from time to time to make sure he doesn’t forget how to do it, but he doesn’t think he’s very good at it. “I don’t want it to look ugly.”

Natasha wants him to at least try.

“Okay, fine. Can you grab the clipboard from the game shelves? It’s got the plastic [writing guide](https://www.maxiaids.com/aluminum-clipboard-letter-writer) on it with the slits on it. And grab a pencil from Steve’s sketching stuff, please.”

Seconds later, the clipboard is slid onto his lap and she pushes the pencil between his fingers.

“While I practice, can you help find pictures to put on the card? If you can print it out then I can show you how to indent the lines so I can decorate it.”

She asks him what pictures he wants.

That’s not something he’s really thought about. “I don’t know. Something that has Christmas things on it, but not too many details cause then I can’t tell what I’m decorating.”

He feels her get up and return to the couch a moment later. She lifts his hand and he feels the computer on her lap. She firmly pushes his hand to the clipboard.

“Okay, okay. I’ll practice.”

He flips over the plastic guide and checks that the paper underneath is properly clipped to the board. He flips the writing guide back over it and adjusts his grip on the pencil.

At first, Steve had wanted him to practice writing with a pen, but he can count on one hand how many times he’s used a pen in his life, and the slippery surface was something he couldn’t get used to. He’d clutched the pen way too hard, his writing had been a disaster and he’d stressed himself out over the whole thing. Once Steve had given him a normal pencil, he’d had much more success. Steve may have gotten used to using pens, but Bucky hasn’t. With the little amount of writing he has to do these days, he doesn’t feel the need to practice using one. It’s hard enough working on his writing skills with a writing tool he’s accustomed to.

He finds the first slit with the tip of his finger and carefully positions the pencil in the opening.

It’s always hard to get going. Prior to Steve encouraging him to start practicing a few times a week, the last time he’d written anything lengthy was during the war when he’d written letters to Steve and his family.

Through trial and error, he and Steve had discovered that writing cursive allows him to produce the most legible work. When he prints letters he often misjudges the spacing between letters and words. Cursive takes some of the guess work out of it.

He writes out ‘Merry Christmas, Steve’ a few times, along with ‘Love, Your Bucky’.

When he’s filled half a page, he turns the clipboard to Natasha. “How does it look?”

Natasha squeezes his hand. That’s not a solid answer.

“Don’t coddle me, Romanov. Just be honest. If it’s terrible, tell me what I need to do different.”

She tells him the words are too small.

“Okay. I’ll work on it.”

A few minutes later, she taps him on the shoulder, interrupting him in the middle of writing ‘Christmas’ and turns his hand over. She’s found a picture of a candle with some holly.

“Is it a big candle with a flame on top?”

Tap.

“And the holly’s got the round berries?”

Tap.

“Perfect. That’s not too complicated. Can you print it out on the thick card paper? It’s by the printer.”

They continue working in silence, Bucky asking Natasha to inspect his work from time to time. Finally, Natasha squeezes his hand and informs him that he’s ready. She hands him the card. It’s time for him to write on the card.

Feeling nervous, he presses his lips together. He really wants this to look as good as possible for Steve. She squeezes his hand again and reminds him they can always erase it and start over if he’s not happy with it. Plus, she can print new copies if they really mess up.

That’s true. He keeps forgetting they can afford all the paper they want these days. He takes a deep breath. “Alright, let’s do this.”

She takes the clipboard from him, and when its put back on his lap, he can feel the card has been slid beneath the plastic guide. She brings his hand to the guide and positions him at the slit she wants him to start in.

“Okay. Here we go.”

He tries to relax—his writing’s always worse if he’s nervous and clutching the pencil too hard—and carefully writes one word at a time.

He gets through the ‘Merry Christmas, Steve’.

“How’s that? Good?”

An arm wraps around him and squeezes him tight.

Tap, tap, tap.

Bucky grins. “Okay. Where should I write the other line?”

Natasha moves his hand to a different spot, and he slowly writes ‘Love, Your Bucky’.

“There. Is that okay?”

Tap, tap, tap.

Bucky breathes out a sigh of relief. “Alright, that’s the tough part. Can you pull the card out? I’ll go get the foam pad.”

Heading back to shelves, he finds the clipboard with the thick foam pad glued to it. He fumbles around and finds the little kit of different sized dull instruments which Steve uses to create different indent widths.

He goes back to the couch and uses his scrap paper to demonstrate how to attach the paper to the clipboard over the foam pad, and how to trace lines with the different tools. “Don’t press too hard or you’ll go through the paper, but press hard enough that I’ll be able to feel the raised line on the other side.”

Draping his arm around her shoulder, he presses their heads together. “Thanks for helping with this, Nat. You’re a peach.”

A kiss is pressed to his cheek.

By the time Steve gets back home, Natasha had finished turning the picture into a tactile version which Bucky can feel, and she’s helped Bucky identify what’s what on the card so he can decorate it by himself.

They’d carefully slid the card into one of the plastic sleeves in his art portfolio, and Natasha had taped a paper over the sleeve to hide it from view, writing ‘No peeking!’ on it, per Bucky’s request.

Just in case.


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you believe we’re on Chapter 40? And we still have a long way to go! Time to see how Steve’s meeting at SHIELD went.

Steve has forgotten how much he hates SHIELD until he’s back at headquarters.

He’s resented them since he’d found out that they’d been stupid enough to let Hydra run the entire organization for decades. Once he’d realized that they were hell bent on hunting down Bucky and treating him like a rabid dog, that resentment had cemented into hatred. After Bucky was captured, Steve had only returned to SHIELD because it was part of his immunity deal. He hated working for them then, and he’s going to hate it now.

He’s not looking forward to this.

He reminds himself to keep his temper in check. He definitely won’t be able to pull off a ‘Captain America’ act, but losing his temper isn’t going to help him.

At least, that’s what Bucky explained to him over and over again. While Steve doesn’t completely believe that, he’d made a promise to Bucky to keep his temper and he intends to keep it. That’s more important than letting these idiots know what he thinks of them.

It’s a mantra in his head: stay calm, stay calm, stay calm.

It helps him keep a cool head while he’s sitting in front of Everett Ross’s desk and the man is giving him a tight smile.

“Welcome back, Captain Rogers.”

“I’m here for a meeting, Everett. This doesn’t mean I’m back full time.”

Ross gives him a long look. “Look, let’s not waste each other’s time. Ever since the whole Winter Soldier situation—”

“His name is James Barnes.”

“As I said—ever since the Winter Soldier situation, we have been more than lenient with you. We both know that anybody else in your situation would be in jail right now. You’re not. In fact, we let you keep your position and continue as if you hadn’t decided to betray your country and everything SHIELD and the American military stands for. You repaid our leniency with a bad attitude and came very close to insubordination on a number of occasions.”

Steve doesn’t say anything. It’s all true, but he really doesn’t care that it’s true.

When Ross sees he’s not responding, he continues. “And now, SHIELD has allowed you to take months of personal leave without requiring updates or explanations, and you don’t even do us the courtesy of letting us know when you’re coming back to work.”

“I wasn’t required to give you updates or explanations because Barnes signed a contract forcing you to stay out of my business. Let’s not pretend you left me alone out of respect for my privacy or out of the kindness of your heart.”

Ross’s smile gets even tighter. “And now that you finally decide to show up, you come in with the same attitude from before. Let me be clear, Captain: If you intend on continuing your employment with SHIELD, your behavior is going to have to change drastically, starting now.”

Steve stares at Ross.

For the first time, he realizes that he already knows exactly what he wants to do.

He wants nothing to do with SHIELD anymore. In fact, he wants nothing to do with the military anymore. He refuses to allow some stranger to force him to choose someone or something else over Bucky ever again.

It’s not just because Bucky has nobody else who would truly put him first, but Bucky deserves Steve’s loyalty much more than SHIELD or the military does.

Besides—there’s no way he’s leaving Bucky at home alone for hours every day while he’s off at work. That’s not happening.

There’s nothing he needs from SHIELD or the military anymore. They’re just inconveniences which will continue to come between him and Bucky.

They’re not worth it.

Ross has continued talking—probably about Steve’s attitude—but Steve hasn’t been listening.

“Can I resign from SHIELD if I want to?”

Ross stops mid-sentence and stares at him. It’s clear he’s surprised by the question. “I—I suppose you can. If that’s what you want.”

Steve suddenly feels like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. He thinks he’s even breathing a little better. It’s probably just his imagination, but it feels nice. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s what I want.”

“Captain—”

“And who do I talk to about resigning from the military?”

Ross blinks. “I—That’s an issue for the military. You need to sort that out with them.”

Steve gives him a tight smile. “Okay. So what do you need from me?”

“Well, you need to submit an official letter of resignation.”

“Okay. You’ll have it tomorrow. Have a good day, Everett.”

With that, Steve sweeps out of his office.

He feels great.

*             *             *

When Steve gets home, Bucky’s happy that he seems less tense and he’s clearly relieved that they’re all fine. Natasha stays for dinner and they play a few rounds of hangman before she heads home.

As soon as she’s out the door, Bucky puts his second Christmas-related mission into action. He retrieves the writing clipboard from the shelf and sits on the couch.

“Stevie, can you help me with something? I wanna make Nat a card for Christmas. I can write on it, but can you draw something nice on the card that I can decorate?”

All he has to do is make sure he works on the cards when their respective recipients aren’t sitting next to him, and he’ll be able to make them both very nice presents which will hopefully be a surprise to both of them.

After Bucky has practiced and written his Christmas message on a blank card, he curls up next to Steve on the couch as Steve sketches the requested Christmas scene: a big Christmas tree covered in spherical ornaments, with a pile of presents below it.

“So how was SHIELD?”

He feels Steve tense slightly.

“You don’t gotta tell me if you don’t wanna. But are you gonna be going back to work?” He tries to keep his tone casual. He really hasn’t thought about what would happen if Steve has to go back to work. How would that even work? What the hell is he going to do all day by himself? What if Steve has to be gone for days at a time?

Steve’s rubbing his hand. He tells him he’s not going back to work.

That’s a relief. But…

“When is SHIELD gonna make you go back?”

Steve beats around the bush a bit, telling him that SHIELD isn’t going to tell him anything anymore…and then he drops the bombshell that he resigned.

Bucky sits up straight. “Seriously? You resigned?”

Tap.

“Seriously?”

Tap.

Bucky presses his lips together. This news if fantastic, but if this is another one of those times where Steve is just making rash decisions without thinking, he might change his mind later. “You sure that’s what you want?”

Tap, tap, tap.

“You’re really sure?”

Tap. Steve explains that he’d hated working for SHIELD ever since they locked Bucky up, and the thought of having to work for them again had been making him feel angry and annoyed. He doesn’t want to deal with that. Plus, doing a job that requires him to be away from home for long periods of time isn’t an option and it’s not something he’s interested in.

Bucky feels relief running through him. “That’s—that’s—Yeah. So no more SHIELD?”

Steve tells him there will be no more military too.

That takes Bucky by complete surprise. It’s never been a secret that Steve has hated working for SHIELD these last few years, but being in the military had been Steve’s dream since the war.

Bucky gapes in Steve’s direction. “What do you mean no more military?”

Steve tells him it’s exactly what it sounds like: he resigned from the military too.

“You—you resigned from the military too? You’re out?”

Tap. Well, Steve tells him he hasn’t done it yet, but he plans to. It’ll take a while to get the paperwork sorted out, but he’ll start tomorrow. Once the process is done, he’ll be out of the military.

“Permanently?”

Tap.

That’s—that’s—he hadn’t been expecting that.

“Steve…”

He feels Steve sit up and put the card to the side. Steve’s hands squeeze his hand.

Steve tells him he’s happy with his decision. Really, really, really happy. He’s pressing his fingers hard into Bucky’s palm when he spells out ‘really’.

Bucky presses his lips together. “I—I don’t know. I don’t want you leaving the military just because of me. I know how much the military means to you.”

Rub, rub, rub.

Steve tells him firmly that Bucky means more to him than anything else in the world.

To emphasize his point, Steve lifts Bucky’s chin and kisses him. Bucky smiles into the kiss.

“If you’re sure…”

Tap, tap, tap.

“So you’re back to being Mister Steve Rogers now, huh?”

Tap.

Steve tells him that makes him very, very happy.

*             *             *

Steve spends several days getting together the paperwork he needs to file to get out of SHIELD and the military. Getting out of SHIELD is easy. They make a fuss about wanting two weeks notice, but once Steve complains to Natasha about it, those requests quickly disappear.

He realizes he’s being a jerk, but he figures SHIELD has been a jerk to him, so they deserve it.

Getting out of the military takes more time and much more paperwork.

A few weeks later, his first round of paperwork goes through and he has to show up in person. The nearest military office is accessible with the R train so he brings Bucky along. They’ve practiced taking the train a number of times and Bucky’s getting more confident at getting through the entrance gates and getting on and off the train, but they’re still not ready to undertake a journey requiring multiple transfers.

Steve leaves Bucky in the reception area. He’s got the sliding puzzle game with him to keep himself entertained.

The meeting with the officer who will be filing Steve’s resignation application is straight-forward. The interview isn’t complicated and there are no barriers to Steve resigning his commission, so the whole thing is pretty quick.

Once he’s done, he and Bucky buy hot dogs from a street vendor for lunch and hop on the train heading back home.

The papers won’t officially be processed for a few months, but Steve doesn’t let that bother him.

He’s back to living life as plain old Steve Rogers.

It’s a great feeling.

*             *             *

As Steve gets more comfortable with the idea of painting and using the paste, he decides to expand his boundaries even more and get different colors of acrylic paint. So far he’s only bought white paint to mix with his paste, but after practicing the flower painting with only white paste, he really wants to see what it’ll look like with different colors.

Using colors is something that’s brand new to him. Before the serum, his colorblindness made it impossible for him to distinguish between many colors, and they couldn’t afford to buy colored pencils anyway. After the serum, he hadn’t had enough time to explore his art during the war, and after coming out of the ice, he had enough time, but lacked motivation.

Now is the perfect time to add colors into his art. He’ll be able to see the colors exactly the way they are, and he has all the time in the world to practice.

Plus, Bucky won’t be able to see the colors anyway, so if Steve does a terrible job, he can just get rid of those projects before anyone sees them.

He buys a set of acrylic paint colors, different sized paint brushes and a plastic palette. He saves his expensive canvases for practicing his paste-work, and uses large sheets of paper flung over the canvas to practice. He learns how to create different shades and how to blend different colors so they shift seamlessly from one shade to another. He watches lots of videos and does lots of practicing.

He’s usually so focused on what he’s painting and what the colors are doing that he never notices he’s covered in paint until he’s done. Today, he’s been working on a neat double-loading technique which allows him to use two different paint colors to create shading effects without having to create a bunch of different blended colors.

He’d figured out that he can create a tactile shading effect by using paint mixed with sand and normal paint. Once it’s dry, he’s looking forward to letting Bucky touch it and see if he managed to pull of the gradual fading from sandy paint to plain paint.

Eventually, he thinks he can add this effect in his bigger textured paintings.

When he’s filled the paper with different attempts, he cleans his brushes, pulls off his painting shirt and heads off to shower. He stops by the table and tells Bucky he’s done painting for the day and he’s going to jump into the shower.

“Did you clip the art corner rope closed?”

“Yeah, Buck.” Steve taps his hand.

“Okay. Have a good shower.”

Sam’s daily text arrives while Steve’s in the shower and he sees the notification when he’s getting dressed. He pulls on his motion sensor armband and sits at the table to read Sam’s message.

It’s a link to a story on the Good News website. Steve is pleased that he feels excited about the story before he’s even opened it. That’s definite improvement from how he was feeling a few weeks ago.

He opens the story and reads about a designer who made a special stuffed bunny for a 3-year-old girl who had lost one eye to cancer. The little girl had told her mother she was sad that all of her toys looked different than she did, so the designer made her a special stuffed bunny that only had one eye.

Steve can’t help the smile that appears on his face. The story made him feel good, and that’s the perfect way to end the day.

“Hey, Buck. Come here and see the story Sam sent us. It’s real sweet.” He presses the motion sensor on his arm and waits for Bucky to come over.

Bucky finds him after some searching and wraps his arm around Steve. He buries his nose in Steve’s hair and makes a happy noise. “You smell good, Rogers. What’s going on?”

“Sam send me another story,” Steve says, and tells Bucky all about it.

Steve can feel Bucky’s smile against his neck while he listens. He kisses Steve’s neck. “That was very nice of that designer. I hope it’ll make the little girl feel better about life. You know what else is great about it?”

Steve draws a question mark on Bucky’s palm.

Bucky kisses Steve’s neck. “It’s great that you liked the story. You’re really excited and happy about it and that makes it even better.”

A pleased smile spread over Steve’s face. He squeezes Bucky’s arms. “Thanks, Buck.”

*             *             *

Bucky takes his time choosing the perfect time to bring up the possibility of Steve going to see a therapist. He knows if he chooses the wrong moment, Steve will get annoyed, and then he’ll get angry if Bucky pushes the issue, and his stubbornness won’t let him change his mind later.

He waits until they’ve come back from a walk, had lunch and have settled on the couch to watch a baseball game.

Bucky tries to be as discreet as possible as he touches Steve to check how he’s doing. He’s relaxed and smiling lots.

Excellent. He’s in the perfect mood to talk about unpleasant things.

“Steve, can we talk about something before we start?”

Steve tells him the gam—

“Can you set it to record? We can catch up after we talked.”

Bucky finds Steve’s thigh. He can feel Steve’s tenser than he had been a few seconds ago. If Bucky wants to talk before watching baseball, Steve knows it’s something serious. He feels Steve shifting around—probably setting the game to record, and then he’s turning and squeezing Bucky’s thigh with one hand and gently holding Bucky’s hand with his other.

Steve thinks this has something to do with Bucky.

Well, he’s about to get a surprise.

“Steve, I’ve been thinking a lot about those days when you feel grummy. I’m glad that I can help you on those days, but it’s hard knowing that you have to suffer through those days.”

Bucky feels Steve’s hand tensing—he’s about to start spelling something. Bucky twists his hand around and holds onto Steve’s hand to keep him quiet.

“I don’t want you telling me that you’ll try harder to hide it when you’re not feeling good. That’s the opposite of what I want—and I’ll know when you’re lying and I’ll get into a real good snit, trust me. What I want is for you to get better so you’re not having those bad days so often.”

He’s careful not to say he’s hoping that Steve will one day be completely cured. According to Natasha’s research, that might never happen and he doesn’t want to put impossible expectations on Steve.

Steve’s hands twitch again but Bucky keeps a tight hold on his fingers.

“Nat told me that it ain’t your fault and we may have to live with the grumminess the rest of our lives, and that’s fine. But there are things that people can try to do to help with the grumm—with the depression. And it would really mean the world to me if you tried doing some of those things. You being happy and healthy is the most important thing in the world to me—it always has been—and it’s been real hard dealing with this cause I know there’s nothing I can do to help you with it.”

Bucky releases his grip on Steve’s hand, and predictably, Steve’s first sentence is to tell Bucky that it ain’t Bucky’s fault and Steve doesn’t expect Bucky to solve this for him.

“I know that. That ain’t the point. The point is that there are things we can do to help and if they work—even a little bit—then you’ll feel better, and if you feel better, then I’ll feel better. Nat told me a bunch of things we can try.”

Steve is quiet for a moment. Then he cautiously asks Bucky what these helpful things are.

“You need to find more things you enjoy doing, which you’ve been doing. And you’ve been eating right and getting the right amount of sleep—those are other things.”

He deliberately leaves out the exercise suggestion. He knows Steve will grab on to that and tell Bucky that he’ll do exercises all day, every day—anything to avoid the next suggestion he’s going to make.

Bucky can make sure Steve’s exercising enough without needing to tell Steve about it.

“The best suggestion is to see a therapist. Those are mind doctors. They can help you with the depression. If necessary, they can also give you some medication to make you feel better.”

Bucky knows Steve’s going to tell him about his prior therapy experience.

Sure enough, Steve tells him he’s already tried seeing a therapist and it was worthless.

Bucky doesn’t point out that it may have been worthwhile if Steve had actually given it decent try, but that would lead to an argument.

“Then that wasn’t the right doctor. We can find you the right doctor. Sam and Nat are gonna help and if you don’t like the doctor, then you don’t gotta go.”

Steve is quiet.

Bucky squeezes his hand. Time to lay it on thick. “Stevie, this is really important to me. I—it hurts when I see you suffering like that. If there’s even a chance that a therapist will help, then it would mean the world to me if you tried. That’s all I’m asking—just try. But give it a good try, not a half-cocked try.”

Steve is still quiet.

That’s a good sign. It means he’s thinking about it.

Bucky lets go of Steve’s hand and runs his hand up Steve’s arm to his face. He squeezes the back of Steve’s neck and pulls them together so his face is resting against Steve’s.

“Please give this a try, sweetheart. Please? For me. It would mean the world to me.”

And that right there is the only motivation Steve needs.

Bucky feels Steve’s arms come up around him and give him a tight squeeze. Steve’s lips are moving—but Bucky’s waiting to feel what his hands will do.

Finally— _finally_ —Bucky feels Steve’s hands tap on his back.

Success!

*             *             *

Steve’s initial reaction to Bucky’s suggestion for therapy was to brush it off. He’d known from the second Bucky started with that whole ‘do it for me’ thing that Bucky was trying to steer him in a certain direction. He’s known this goof for way too long not to notice him playing those cards from a mile away.

And yes, it had worked…to a point.

In most cases, there’s nothing Steve wouldn’t do for Bucky, but when it comes to talking to a stranger about things he’d rather keep to himself, Steve is prepared to step around those little traps Bucky sets for him.

His mind had already started churning up a list of excuses—when he’d realized that this would be the perfect way of getting _Bucky_ to see a therapist.

Steve hadn’t enjoyed his SHIELD-mandated therapy sessions at all. The woman he’d had to speak to was distant and not at all personable. Steve had just lost his entire world, and talking to her didn’t make him feel any better.

He’d figured out pretty quickly that she needed to see him act in a certain way and hear him say certain things, and eventually she’d sign his paperwork and he wouldn’t have to see her again.

For Steve, it had been a strategic game, not something that was supposed to help improve his mental health.

He doesn’t want Bucky to end up in a similar situation. Finding the right therapist for Bucky will be tricky enough—it’ll have to be somebody who knows the deafblind manual alphabet—so finding somebody who Bucky will get along with well is a top priority.

If Steve gives therapy another try and it turns out to be a waste of time again, he’s not going to subject Bucky to that mess, especially because Bucky will be using a lot more time and energy during the sessions than Steve.

Going to therapy will be a great way for Steve to test out this whole therapy thing one more time.         

Steve shares all this with Sam when he’s talking to him a few days later. His phone’s resting on the couch’s armrest and Sam’s on speaker.

Bucky’s sitting right beside him, but Steve’s gotten accustomed to chatting with Natasha or Sam about Bucky while he’s sitting right there. It used to be bizarre, but like most things, it’s becoming normal.

When he’s not directly communicating with Bucky, it’s like there’s an invisible wall between the two of them. Steve can bring the wall down with a single touch, but right now, that wall needs to stay up.

Sam’s listened to his rant about how stupid therapists are and how he’s not going to subject Bucky to something like that. Sam kindly waits for Steve to finish his rant, then he gently tries to make Steve see the situation from another perspective.

“Look, buddy, I’m sorry about what happened with the SHIELD therapist. Believe it or not, the way she was acting is what a lot of people look for in therapists. Having an impartial, non-judgemental listener is important for some people, and some therapists can’t come across that way without seeming cold and distant.”

“Well, that ain’t helpful for me and it won’t be helpful for Buck.”

“Steve, we gotta leave Bucky out of it for now. If that’s your only motivation for seeing a therapist, you might as well stop now. Finding a therapist for yourself is not the same as finding one for Bucky.”

Steve opens his mouth to tell Sam that Bucky needs a therapist more than he does.

“And you need to find yourself a therapist. You’ve tried all sorts of other things to get better, and we both know it’s only improved a little bit. Leave Bucky out of it for now and focus on yourself. You can work on finding Bucky a therapist when your head’s in a better place.”

Steve makes an unhappy sound, but Sam keeps talking before Steve can start arguing.

“Getting back to what you were saying before—about the therapist being distant—you need a therapist who will show you empathy and connect with you on a personal level. That’s why it can take a while to find the right therapist. It’s kind of like dating: the first date should be all about getting a basic feel for each other and the next few dates should be sharing background information. Some therapists don’t like sharing information about themselves, and some patients don’t like hearing the therapists talk about themselves, but again—that’s not the same for all therapists and all patients.”

“Okay…when does the other baloney start?”

“First of all, none of it’s baloney. If you go into it with that attitude, you won’t get anything out of it. Second of all: when you’re both comfortable with each other, that’s when you can start talking about more difficult topics and that’s when the work actually starts. The two of you have to trust and like each other for the relationship to keep functioning properly.”

Steve sighs and slumps against the couch. “Why can’t you just be my therapist?”

“Because you’re a stubborn ass and if you get mad at somebody, you shut them out. Your therapist is gonna make you mad a lot, and I want to be here for you as a friend when that happens. That means I can’t be both.”

Steve grumbles a bit under his breath. “Fine.”

“I’m thrilled you’re so enthusiastic, man. What’s your other stumbling block?”

“How do you know I have more stumbling blocks?”

“Because you still sound too casual about this whole thing. You’re a little grumpy, a little annoyed, but mostly casual. Once it’s all figured out and it’s time for you to actually start seeing the therapist, you’re gonna be a lot less casual.”

“Fuck you and your know-it-all attitude, Wilson.”

Sam laughs. “Damn! Rogers’ attitude is coming out. I was right, wasn’t I?”

“Maybe.”

“What’s the other stumbling block?”

“Buck.”

Sam makes an affirmative noise. “What about him?”

“I can’t leave him home alone for hours. That’s not—we ain’t—” He takes a deep breath.

He shouldn’t lie to Sam. This isn’t a ‘we’ issue, this is a ‘Steve’ issue. “No, not ‘we’. I. I ain’t ready for that. Buck will do it. He’ll sit on the couch and not move from the time I leave until I get back when I tell him that’s the only way to make sure he stays safe, but that ain’t fair to him. And I ain’t bringing him along with me. Forcing him to sit and wait for me for hours is dumb.”

“How about hiring a homeca—”

“I ain’t leaving Buck with a stranger!”

“Every stranger becomes a friend once—”

“It ain’t happening, Wilson. It just ain’t.”

Sam sighs. It’s his ‘I’m-getting-a-bit-annoyed-with-Steve’ sigh.

Steve’s glad that Sam isn’t suggesting getting Natasha to stay with Buck. Natasha doesn’t mind, and she and Bucky get along very well, but Steve and Bucky both mind. Asking her to stay with Bucky randomly is fine, but this therapy thing will be regular occurrence.

If it ever happens.

Steve chews on his lip. “Do—Why do I gotta go see the therapist? I mean—why do I gotta be the one physically going to them? I’m paying them, ain’t I? Why can’t they come to me?”

“Some therapists do offer home-visits, but that’s usually for extreme situations. And before you start—no, your situation isn’t extreme. You’re gonna have to eventually let Bucky stay at home and take care of himself, but I don’t wanna argue with you about that right now. I’m just telling you that you’ll have a hard time finding an affordable therapist who will do home visits.”

“Fine, no home visits. So I have to go see the therapist?”

“I didn’t say that. There are some therapists who do sessions over the phone or over video chat. Their main concern is privacy. If they know somebody else is listening to you talking, you might not talk freely—”

Steve sits up. “But that don’t apply to our situation. I’m talking to you right now and Buck can’t hear what either of us are saying. That’s perfect!”

“If you’ve gotten comfortable with that, then I don’t see why you can’t have a few sessions over video chat.”

Steve zeroes in on his phrasing. “A _few_ sessions? What do you mean ‘a few sessions’? You think the therapist will change their mind about video chatting?”

“I think if they know what they’re doing, they’ll encourage you and Bucky to use the excuse of coming to therapy as a good way to practice leaving Bucky home alone for a few hours a week. But don’t focus on that. First we’ll focus on finding you some good therapists. I have some connections in New York and I’ll start making some phone calls. When I find some good leads, I’ll let you know and you can call them to get things set up.”

“Okay.”

“Before we talk about something else, I wanna mention something I’ve been thinking about.”

Steve makes an encouraging noise. “What?”

“I’ve been trying to think up things you guys can do for exercise now that the snow’s here. I know you aren’t going out as much as before.”

Steve makes a face. “I know. Buck likes using the bike, but the apartment’s too small for us to have big exercise equipment.”

“What about going swimming?”


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy your trip to the pool with the boys!

When he tells Bucky Sam’s suggestion about going swimming, Bucky seems excited at first. “Where are we gonna go swim? It’s way too cold to swim at the beach.”

Steve grins. He’s been waiting to tell Bucky this part. “We’re gonna go to the Y.”

A pleased smile spreads over Bucky’s face. “The Y is still up and running?”

“Oh, yeah. They’re doing really well.”

“That’s great! They’re still making kids suffer through mandatory swimming lessons, huh?”

Steve laughs. “I guess so.”

“You took an art class at the Y didn’t you?”

Steve snorts. “No, Buck. I took that stupid medical course you wanted me to take.”

“Oh, yeah! Ha! You hated it!”

Steve smiles. “Yeah, I did. But you paid for it and you were so excited ‘bout it, so I didn’t wanna disappoint you.”

“I always thought you and medical stuff would work out—you spent so much time in hospitals and being around doctors anyway.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, that’s exactly why I ain’t ever wanted to have nothing to do with that stuff.”

Bucky snorts. “Okay, okay. I got it. I promise, I won’t sign you up for more classes without talking to you about it first.”

“You damn better not sign me up for more baloney without talking to me ‘bout it. Jerk,” he says, lightly jabbing his elbow into Bucky’s side.

Bucky grins and kicks at Steve’s ankles. “Ungrateful punk. So, where’s the pool? Don’t tell me it’s the same one at Fulton?”

“No, Buck. That building don’t exist anymore. But they’re in a new building and it’s got a pool too. It’s called the Dodge.”

Bucky makes a bit of a disappointed face. “Would have been swell if it was the same one at Fulton, huh?”

Steve taps his hand. It would have been neat. Sometimes they both forget how much time has really passed since they’d last lived in Brooklyn. But at least they’ll be going back to the Y.

He’s looking forward to improving his relationship with the Y since he and the Y have always equally loathed each other. He’d hated doing the mandatory swimming lessons at the pool and he’d also hated doing the medical course.

He’d been a foul mood the entire time he had to take that medical class. The Y had offered different [vocational classes](http://www.mfldymca.org/about_us/history_national.php) for men who were unemployed, but that meant Steve had sat in a class with men twice his age and twice his size, who didn’t like having a ‘kid’ taking up a spot in the class. They hadn’t been shy about letting Steve know how they felt about the situation. He was used to being bullied in school, but there was something about being bullied by much older and much bigger men that had scared him more than any other bullying ever had. For the first time in his life, he’d been too scared to fight back. He’d sat quietly in the corner and tried staying out of their way, tolerating the rude comments and random kicks and hits in silence.

He’d never told Bucky about any of that. He knew how hard Bucky had worked to get together the money to pay for the class, and it was enough for him to know that Steve had hated the subject matter anyway.

He turns back to Bucky. “So, how about it, Buck? Ready to go back to the Y after 70 years?”

Bucky grins. “You bet!” But his tone seems off and Steve can tell that his smile is a bit strained.

“What’s wrong, Buck? Tell me.”

Bucky’s fiddling with the hem of his sweater, a nervous habit Steve has seen him do ever since they were small children. It would annoy both of their mothers because Bucky would constantly put holes into his shirts and sweaters. He doesn’t do it often, only when he’s really nervous about something. “Can I wear a shirt for swimming? I know the rules, but…”

Steve makes a face. “Buck, you know the Y’s rules about that. Anyway, why do you wanna wear a shirt? The water ain’t that cold and we’ll be moving around. We’ll warm up real quick, you remember.”

They hadn’t swum at the public pools very often when they were younger, but they occasionally had to do swimming lessons for school. Steve had hated it for multiple reasons: the swimming exercises would hurt his back, aggravate his chest pains and asthma and he hated being fully exposed in front of their entire class. Over time, everybody else—including Bucky—started to develop muscle and grow in all directions, while Steve barely grew in any direction. He also had some old surgical scars from procedures the hospitals had done and he hated having everybody stare at…

…oh. That’s why Bucky wants to wear a shirt.

He sighs. “Buck, your left side don’t look that bad. And if people stare, I’m gonna tell them to go to hell.”

Bucky shakes his head. “I don’t want you doing that. But I also don’t want people staring because of how my left side looks.”

Steve tries to be delicate. “They’re gonna notice you don’t have a left arm, Buck. People notice it all the time.” Usually people focus more on the white cane and Bucky’s other disabilities, but he sees people doing a double take when they see that Bucky doesn’t have a left arm.

“I know they’re gonna notice I don’t got a left arm, but that’s not the same as them staring at the scars.”

“Okay, let me call the pool and ask. But you know the rules so they’ll probably say you can’t.”

“Tell ‘em I’ll do the physical inspection beforehand and the shirt’s gonna be freshly washed. They can check me and the shirt over as thoroughly as they want, as long as they do the checking in private. I ain’t wanna break the rules, I just don’t wanna be stared at.”

Steve kisses Bucky’s cheek and pulls out his phone to call the Y.

“YMCA Dodge. How can I help you?”

“Hello, ma’am. My friend and I are going to come for a swim at the pool and I wanted to ask if it’s at all possible for my friend to wear a shirt while swimming.” Before she can start to protest or turn him down flat, Steve barrels right along. “I’m well aware of the Y’s [nude swimming policy](http://www.vocativ.com/culture/fun/fairly-recently-ymca-actually-required-swimmers-nude/) and I understand why it’s in place. It’s a perfectly fine, logical policy and I ain’t arguing or being difficult, but I—”

“Sir, did you say _nude swimming policy_?”

“Uh…yes? As I said, I completely understand the need for it and I ain’t arguing about it. My friend is willing to do the visual inspection in private before he swims. If he does that and you see he ain’t got any open wounds or other things, then I don’t see why he couldn’t swim with—”

“Can I put you on hold for a minute?”

Steve thinks this constant interruption is rude, but fine. What choice does he have? “Yeah, sure.”

He waits, listening to the aggravating hold music play. Several long minutes go by, during which he gently stops Bucky from continuing to mangle his shirt hem and tells him he hasn’t gotten a ‘no’ yet, so that’s a good sign.

Bucky just snorts and rolls his eyes.

Finally, the hold music stops and the woman is back. “Sir, when’s the last time you swam at the Y?”

The question completely takes Steve off guard. What the hell does that have to do with anything? “Uhm. A very long time ago.”

“I see. The Y hasn’t had a nude swimming policy since the late 60s.”

Steve blinks. “What?”

“The policy was ended in the 60s, sir. In fact, swimming in the nude in a public facility is against the law.”

“Seriously? You can swim with a bathing costume on?”

“…you can swim with a bathing _suit_ on, yes. In fact, you have to swim with a bathing suit on. It’s not optional.”

Steve feels completely lost. He hates it when this happens. “Can you—what exactly are you calling a bathing suit?”

“For men, it’s any type of bathing suit that covers the lower half of the body.”

“You need to have your legs completely covered?” It seems they went from one extreme to the other.

“No, the private areas need to be covered. That’s the policy for men and women. So wearing a shirt for men isn’t mandatory, but it’s permitted. In fact, I’d recommend buying a swim shirt. They’re specifically designed for swimming.”

“So we need to buy bathing suits?” Steve is unbelievably grateful that this woman is treating this conversation as a normal conversation, and not marvelling over how strange it must seem to her.

“Yes. Most stores sell them or you can buy them online. If you want to wear what most men wear, you should buy swimming trunks. They look like shorts. Swim shirts should be in the same area where the other swimming stuff is.”

Now that Steve knows what’s going on, he feels excited about all this again. “Okay, I think I got it. Thank you so much.”

“No problem. If you have any other questions, I’ll be happy to help.”

Steve hangs up and turns to Bucky. “Buck, you won’t believe this!”

“What? Can I wear a shirt?”

Steve taps his hand multiple times and then tells him he can wear a shirt _and_ he has to wear shorts _and_ he doesn’t have a choice about wearing shorts! He explains what the receptionist had told him.

Bucky grins. “Oh, fantastic! But ain’t this just typical? Back when you didn’t wanna swim nude, you had to, but now when you’ve finally got the body you always wanted—they ain’t gonna let you swim nude!” He dissolves into laughter.

Steve shakes his head, chuckling and smacks Bucky in the shoulder. “Jerk. Why do the stupid policies always favor you and not me?”

“The Y’s got something against you, Rogers. I don’t know what you did, but it’s always been out to get you!” He keeps laughing, ignoring Steve smacking him. “The Y loves me a lot more than it loves you!”

“That’s enough outta you, Barnes,” Steve says, grabbing Bucky and sitting on him. Bucky lets out a squawk and they wrestle a bit, Steve keeping Bucky pinned and Bucky trying to maneuver himself so he can smack or kick Steve, but he’s laughing too hard to get him.

When Bucky’s finally exhausted, he stops laughing and pulls Steve down against his chest. Relaxing against Bucky, Steve wiggles himself between the couch and Bucky, making himself comfortable.

Bucky’s playing with his hair. “Rogers?”

“Hmm?” He reaches up and draws a question mark on Bucky’s shirt.

“How’s all that even gonna work? I don’t think I can actually swim like this. I can’t see where I’m going and I’m missing one arm. I’m gonna make a fool outta myself.”

Steve rubs Bucky’s chest and finds his hand to squeeze it and spell on it. “You ain’t gonna make a fool outta yourself. You know what people will see when they see you trying? They’ll see somebody real brave and real tough who’s trying to do something most of them would be scared to try if they were in your shoes.”

Bucky sighs softly. “That’s sweet, but you know it’s baloney. They’re gonna stare and think I’m one of those weird circus acts. A cripple trying to swim.”

Damn Bucky for being smart. Steve gently squeezes Bucky's hand. “Listen. We’ll take it real slow, okay? One step at a time. If you don’t feel right doing something, then we don’t gotta do it. How about we just try getting to the pool and walking around a bit? How’s that sound?”

Bucky’s fiddling with his shirt again. “We’ll just go in and look around?”

“Yeah. And then I’ll make a big deal outta looking at my watch and pretend I’m an idiot and forgot that we have somewhere to be, and then we can go.”

Bucky frowns. “I don’t want you making an idiot outta yourself for me.”

He shrugs. “I don’t care, Buck. I’ve been dealing with people thinking I’m a goof my entire life. It don’t matter to me.”

Bucky makes a face. “I hate that it matters to me.”

Steve kisses Bucky's hand before continuing to spell on it. “It’s okay if it does. We’ll go and we’ll make it fun, and then you’ll forget all about the other people anyway.”

*             *             *

Despite the reassurances and Bucky’s attempts to hide it, Steve can tell he’s still anxious about the whole thing.

Steve nearly decides to make up a lame excuse and put a stop to their plans—but Bucky might really enjoy swimming. If Bucky ends up liking swimming and adding it to his small list of activities which he can do independently, then it’ll be worth it to push him a little bit.

The new swim shirt and swim trunks arrive a few days later and Bucky spends those days switching back and forth between wanting to go and wanting to stay home, but he finally agrees to at least go to the pool and give it a try. They put on their swimming trunks underneath their pants and Bucky wears the swim shirt underneath his sweater so they’ll have an easier time changing.

Steve has filled out online applications to get both of them free day passes to use. They can use them to give this whole a thing a try. If they like it, they can buy themselves monthly membership cards. If they don’t, at least they’ve given it a try.

Steve prints out the day passes, puts towels and shampoo into his backpack, and they head off to the pool. Steve’s deliberately picked the Y that’s within walking distance. He knows Bucky would appreciate not adding the stress of taking the subway onto this adventure.

They time their visit so they arrive around 8 pm on a weekday. The pool isn’t closing for a few hours, but the receptionist had assured Steve that it’s pretty quiet at that time of the evening.

Steve isn’t prepared for any more 21st century surprises—a pool is a pool—so they’re both surprised when the sliding glass doors open and they step into warm, chemically scented air.

“What’s that smell, Steve?”

He has no idea. They walk them towards the receptionist desk and Steve gives her his Captain America smile.

It’s impossible to miss how her eyes immediately focus on Bucky’s sunglasses and his cane, putting the information together in her head.

He thought about getting Bucky some clear safety glasses that he can wear when they’re outside. It makes no difference to Bucky if he’s wearing shaded or clear glasses, but then he’d realized that the shaded glasses make a huge difference for the public. Steve knows a lot of blind people wear sunglasses because they have some vision and sunlight can hurt their eyes, but a lot of blind people (including Bucky) don’t need to wear sunglasses. But that old stereotype of a blind person needing to wear sunglasses has stuck around for a long time, and it’s actually not such a bad thing when it comes to Bucky. People see the cane and the sunglasses, and it reinforces their assumption that Bucky’s blind. They make more room for him on the sidewalk and some people try to control their staring.

When Steve had started talking to people with Bucky beside him, he’d noticed that people spend a lot of time staring at Bucky, subconsciously trying to make eye contact with him.

It’s so ingrained for them to make eye contact with the people they’re speaking to that it throws them off when Bucky doesn’t meet their gaze. Of course, Bucky can’t help where he’s staring, but Steve had realized that when Bucky’s wearing his sunglasses, people are automatically more at ease talking to both of them.

Steve had explained all this to Bucky, telling him he could choose what kind of glasses to wear. Their main concern is Bucky’s safety. The comfort of their fellow citizens comes second.

“Let’s do our fellow Brooklyn citizens a favor. I take up so much room on the sidewalk anyway, the least I can do is make them feel a little more comfortable when they’re talking to us.”

So Bucky wears his sunglasses, rain or shine.

The only thing he insists on is taking them off when they enter a building. Sometimes Bucky will forget, and it’s Steve’s job to remind him.

Once they’re at the desk, Bucky leaves his cane dangling from the wrist strap and pulls off his sunglasses and hat. Steve takes them both and puts them into the backpack without even having to look at what his hands are doing.

It’s part of routine now.

He steps on Bucky’s foot and tells him the receptionist is a woman. Bucky puts on a smile. “Hello, ma’am.”

Once Bucky’s done, Steve says his own greeting. The receptionist smiles at both of them. “Hi, there. How can I help you?”

“We’re hoping to go swimming tonight. We have free passes.” He takes off his backpack, digs out the print-outs and hands them to her.

“Great! Is this your first time here?”

Steve smiles. “Yes. Uhm, can I ask you what that smell is?”

She waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, that’s just the chlorine.”

Steve blinks at her. His heart leaps into his throat and he automatically stops breathing. His first instinct is to cover Bucky’s face and get them out of the building as fast as possible.

But then he freezes.

The receptionist is smiling at him—she’s clearly been sitting at that desk for a while, breathing in this air.

This _chlorine_ (!).

And she seems fine.

His brain kicks into gear and points out that even if this _is_ chlorine, it must be a different version from the stuff they’d used during the Great War.

He struggles to keep his Captain America smile on his face while he tries to calm his heart rate. “Just a second, please.”

He tells Bucky not to freak out.

“Okay. Why would I—”

Then he tells him the smell is chlorine—

He sees the immediate panic on Bucky’s face—

—but it’s a safe version.

He repeats the word ‘safe’ three more times.

Bucky looks like he’s about to grab Steve and run out of the building. “ _Safe_ version? There ain’t no safe version of chlorine gas, Rogers!”

“Actually—” the receptionist pipes up. “—there is. Chlorine is a disinfectant. We use it to keep the pool water clean. It’s also used to clean the city’s drinking water. The pool has a lot more than our drinking water so you shouldn’t drink a lot of this water, but it’s safe to swim in, and the air’s safe to breathe. It just smells a bit weird.”

Steve tries to interpret some of that for Bucky, but both them of are having a tough time keeping themselves from running out of the building.

“Steve, are you sure about this?”

The receptionist points behind them. “You can see right into the pool through the window. All of those people are fine.”

Steve turns and looks through the window. He can see a bored looking lifeguard leaning against the wall and a few people swimming back and forth in the pool.

The pool that’s filled with chlorine infested water.

The people don’t look dead or deformed, so it must be okay to swim in.

_Jesus Christ._

Okay.

They can do this.

Steve tells Bucky that it seems to be okay. He can see people swimming and they seem fine.

Bucky still looks worried, but he’s got that determined frown on his face. “Okay. Let’s try. If we die, we die. I’ll be telling your ma this was all your idea.”

The receptionist looks alarmed. “Oh, you won’t die. The chlorine might sting your eyes a bit, but—”

“I don’t care if it was really Wilson’s idea—I’m gonna blame you and we’ll see who she believes.”

The receptionist looks a bit annoyed that Bucky interrupted her, but Steve doesn’t feel like explaining all of Bucky’s disabilities to her right now. He has other things to focus on.

He takes a deep breath. “Okay, we’ll give it a try.”

She processes their free passes and directs them to the changing rooms.

Steve guides Bucky down the hallway and into the changing rooms. Once they’re inside, Bucky’s cane immediately smacks into the benches that sit in the middle of the room. There’s nobody else in the room, so they spend a few minutes exploring the space, letting Bucky explore the layout of the room: benches, walls of lockers, a row of sinks, toilet stalls and urinals, and the shower area.

Steve describes the shower area to Bucky, telling him it’s exactly like the showers they had at basic.

They get changed and Steve guides him to the sink so Bucky can wash the cane before they bring it out on the pool deck. Leaving Bucky by the sink, he locks up their stuff into a locker, pins the key to his shorts and goes back to Bucky.

Once they’re ready, Steve takes the cane out of Bucky’s hand, leaves it dangling from the wrist strap and gives his hand a squeeze. He reminds Bucky that Steve knows he can do this, but if he’s uncomfortable or it’s too hard, they can go home any time. If Bucky doesn’t feel comfortable telling Steve he wants to go home with his voice, he can spell it out instead.

Bucky nods. “Okay. That works. Let’s just go real slow, okay?”

Steve taps his hand. “Of course, Buck.”

Bucky takes his cane back, Steve gently grasps his upper arm and turns him in the direction of the pool deck.

*             *             *

Bucky’s enjoying the feel of the tiles under his feet and passing beneath the cane’s ball tip. The tiles are small and evenly spaced, creating an even vibration as the ball tip rolls back and forth over them. The tiles are cool beneath his feet and there are some wet patches.

He notices the chlorine smell—he still can’t get over the fact that he’s _breathing in chlorine gas_!—gets stronger as they walk, and the air feels warmer.

Eventually Steve squeezes his arm to stop him and tells him they’re on the pool deck. Steve steers Bucky to the wall behind him and he feels a square shape glued to the wall.

It’s got some tiny little bumps scattered on it, but nothing else interesting. Steve explains that’s the sign for the men’s changing room.

Steve takes him to another wall where Bucky’s can tells him there’s an open doorway like the room they’d just left, but when Bucky touches the square shape that’s glued next to this doorway, there are twice as many bumps as the other one.

He doesn’t understand what the little bumps are for—Bucky figures it’s some kind of construction defect—but when he pushes on them, they don’t flatten, so he thinks he can use them for identification.

“Okay, I got it. We’re the one with the fewer bumps. That’s easy. Alright, let’s get going.”

Steve says they’ll walk around the pool first to let Bucky get a sense of where things are.

That’s when a little bit of fear sets in. What if he falls in?! He used to know how to swim—but that was with two arms, and two good eyes.

What if he falls in and hits his head? What if he falls in and can’t figure out which way is up? He’ll drown in the black water before Steve can get—

Steve’s squeezing his hand.

He tells Bucky that they’ll walk slowly, and Steve will make sure he won’t fall in.

It seems like he’d said some of his fears out loud without realizing it.

“You can’t promise that, punk.”

Steve says he can promise to watch very carefully. He reminds Bucky he’s gotten much better at being a sighted guide.

“That’s true. Alright, we can go. But slowly. And pay attention, Rogers!”

Steve promises that he will.

Bucky waits until Steve squeezes his arm three times, and he slowly starts walking again.

He’s sweeping the cane over the bumpy tiles, stepping on the moist patches, and everything is going well, until the cane suddenly drops down when he swings it to his left side.

This usually means there’s a curb or a set of stairs—but Bucky knows that’s not what this means.

“Is that the pool?”

Tap.

Bucky shuffles a little closer to the edge, using his cane to carefully trace the edge of the pool. He feels Steve’s grip tighten on his arm—which is good.

He slowly walks forward, keeping the edge of the pool within his sweep.

Eventually, the edge disappears.

He does one full sweep over the tiles. And then another. And then another. Sometimes the cane tip catches on the edge of something, sometimes it doesn’t.

That was the corner of the pool.

He stops and sweeps a little more carefully, looking for the pool edge again. When the cane drops off, he knows he’s found it. He sweeps around and identifies the L shaped corner of the pool. Tracing the new edge of the pool, he lines himself up and starts walking again, following the new edge line.

It’s actually not that scary when he’s focusing on understanding what’s going on around him. Plus, Steve’s holding onto his arm tightly, so that makes him feel better too.

They keep walking and Bucky follows the edge of the pool as they round more corners. Sometimes Steve has to steer him around some obstacles, but mostly he can walk close to the edge. Eventually Steve stops him when the cane hits something in his path. When Bucky touches the item, he realizes right away they’re cool, curving metal. Some type of railing. It must be the ladder used to climb in and out of the pool.

He makes a mental note to be careful around the ladders. He’ll have to learn to walk around the ladders so he doesn’t accidentally bump into somebody who’s getting in or out of the pool. There are four ladders—two on each of the long sides of the pool.

The only other big obstacles which Steve has him explore are diving blocks. They’re square, rough plastic stuck on metal poles with a metal step jutting out. The squares are tilted towards the water and they’re about waist height. Steve tells him people jump off them into the water.

Bucky makes a note to be careful when around the diving blocks. Like the ladders used to climb in and out of the pool, this is an area where he has a higher chance of encountering people.

When they reach the fourth corner—Bucky’s kept careful track—he tells Steve he wants to find the changing room doorway. He knows they’re close to it.

Steve tells him there’s nobody in the way so Bucky moves away from the pool, sweeping and walking and looking for the wall. When he finds it, he looks for the break in the wall which is the open doorway.

He remembers the signs were on the left side of the doorway.

He finds the square shape and touches it. Way too many bumps.

“This is the women’s room?”

Tap, tap, tap.

Steve squeezes and jostles his hand happily.

Bucky grins. He’s pretty happy with himself too. He remembers the men’s room was to the left of the women’s, so he’d completely missed it.

He follows the wall and eventually finds the open doorway, and from there, he finds the left doorframe and the sign with the fewer bumps. Success!

“This is ours.”

Tap, tap, tap.

A happy hand jostle.

“Can we go around the pool one more time? Then we’ll talk about maybe getting in, but I wanna go around it once more.”

He’s making a good mental map of what the pool area looks like, but he wants to pay more attention to the details this time.

He gets himself oriented by touching the square sign, then turns around and slowly walks in the direction of the pool. Once the cane drops off the edge, he orients himself and starts his second journey around the pool perimeter with Steve by his side.

*             *             *

Steve’s so focused on Bucky at first that he doesn’t realize they’ve attracted an audience.

The pool isn’t busy, but everybody who doesn’t have their face in the water is busy staring at them.

There are two lifeguards. One of them is the bored looking Caucasian female who Steve had seen from the reception desk, and she’s still leaning against the wall, but she definitely doesn’t look bored anymore.

There’s a male Indian-American lifeguard who stepping out of a ‘Staff Only’ door, licking his fingers and crumbling up an empty chip bag in his hands. He throws the bag into a garbage can and saunters over to the female lifeguard.

As the lifeguard is walking, he follows the direction of his co-workers stare—which is not focused on the pool area, but rather, on Bucky and Steve—and now they’ve got two lifeguards staring at them.

There’s an elderly woman in the deeper end of the pool who appears to be running (!) in the water, but her run slows to a stroll when she decides to use her energy to stare at Bucky and Steve instead.

There are three teenage boys by the diving blocks, and they too stop what they’re doing to stare.

That’s fine, let them stare.

Steve doesn’t pay any of them any attention. Bucky is completely unaware of the staring, and Steve doesn’t care.

It’s great that they came this late in the evening. There are less than a dozen people in the entire pool area—including Bucky and Steve—which means even when somebody climbs out of the pool, the person has plenty of time to get out of the way before they become a problem for Bucky.

Steve keeps his Captain America smile on his face and calls out ‘Excuse me, pardon me, we’re just coming through here’ when they get close to another person, and his verbal warning, along with Bucky’s cane, makes them scramble to get out of the way.

A few of the swimmers have left piles of their belongings stacked on the deck close to the edge, but Steve guides Bucky around them in a wide arc so the cane doesn’t accidentally sweep anything into the water.

They pass the staring lifeguards on both of their rounds around the edge of the pool, and both times, Steve gives them pleasant smiles and says ‘Hello, how’s it going?’ as Bucky sweeps his way past them.

They manage to get around the edge of the pool twice without Bucky ever encountering another person, which is good. When they get back to the changing rooms and Bucky finds the correct one on his first try, Steve asks him if he wants to get into the water.

He can see the fear and anxiety on Bucky’s face right away.

“It’s okay, Buck. We don’t have to, but I’d really like you to try just putting your feet in. That’ll be good enough for today. I know you can do it. But if you really, really don’t wanna, tell me, and we can go home. We’ve already done a lot for today.”

“But the free passes are only good for today!” Bucky sounds very distressed at the thought of wasting their free admission.

Steve gives Bucky’s hand a hard shake. “We’ve already used the free passes to explore the pool area, haven’t we? We’ve already made the trip worthwhile. Don’t you dare convince yourself that you haven’t worked hard up to now.”

Bucky draws in a shaky breath and chews on his lip while he thinks it over. “I can just sit on the edge and put my feet in?”

“That’s right. I’ll get in the water and I’ll be right in front of you so if you fall in, I’ll catch you. I promise.”

“Okay, but I want the shallow part.”

Steve tells him that the shallow end of the pool is right by the changing rooms. The deeper end is where the diving blocks are.

Bucky takes the initiative and walks back to the edge of the pool. Steve’s happy to see that he doesn’t seem anxious anymore when the cane drops off the edge. That’s progress.

But then comes the hard part. Steve squeezes Bucky’s hand and tells him he should fold up the cane.

Panic spreads across Bucky’s face and he opens his mouth—but to Steve’s surprise, Bucky closes his mouth again, takes a deep breath and calmly folds up the cane.

Steve can see that he’s trembling slightly, and Steve gently puts his hands on Bucky’s hips, not interfering with his cane folding, but letting him know he’s there.

When the cane is folded up, Bucky bends over and carefully places it on the tiled floor. He crouches down and feels along the floor for the edge and then moves his cane back further.

Steve wants to point out that water won’t harm the cane and Steve can easily dive down to get it if it falls in—but Bucky tends to be overprotective over his cane, and that’s okay.

When Bucky’s satisfied that his cane is in a safe spot, he carefully sits on the pool deck and shifts closer to the edge, feeling for the drop off with his feet. He finds it and slowly extends his feet, sliding them into the water.

“There you go, Buck! Good job!” Steve sits down next to him and puts his feet into the cool water too.

He squeezes Bucky’s thigh. Bucky’s hand scrambles across the smooth tiles of the deck, looking for something to hold onto, and then settles on grabbing the edge of the pool.

Steve can’t tell Bucky what a good job he’s doing with his hand clutching the pool edge, so he squeezes Bucky’s thighs and his clenched hand and gently rubs his thumb over the gripping fingers.

“Steve, you said you were gonna get into the water. I don’t like sitting here like this. I feel like somebody might push me in accidentally.”

Oh, right. Steve keeps a hand on Bucky’s thigh so he can feel what Steve’s doing and he swings himself into the water. The water comes up to Steve’s waist so his hips are level with Bucky’s legs.

He squeezes Bucky’s thighs and presses himself against Bucky’s knees, letting him know he’s right there.

Eventually, some color returns to Bucky’s face and he loosens his tight grip on the pool edge. Steve takes his hand and kisses his palm. He tells him how proud he is of him.

Bucky manages a little smile. “This ain’t so bad. The water’s not that cold, huh?”

Well, it’s not the most comfortable water temperature to be standing waist-deep in without moving around—but Steve can stand here until the pool closes if that’s what Bucky wants. He lies and tells him the water’s nice.

While Bucky gets used to sitting on the edge, Steve scoops some water onto Bucky’s legs. Then he grabs Bucky’s feet and moves them around in the water, making big circles with them.

That makes Bucky laugh. “What are you doing with my feet, punk? You sure I ain’t gonna kick somebody?”

Steve laughs. He reaches up and rubs Bucky’s thigh, then goes back to playing with his feet. “We’re the only ones in this part of the pool, Buck.”

He’s keeping an eye on their surroundings, and the lane which Steve had chosen was empty. Now that they aren’t in full view of their adoring public anymore, most people have gone back to doing their own activities.

The female lifeguard has left the deck, and her male counterpart is now lounging against the wall where she’d been standing. Steve notices he’s distributing his staring a bit more evenly around the pool now.

Everyone seems to be getting used to things.

He’s ready to call it a night. They’ve done more than enough for one day and Steve’s learned by now not to set overly ambitious goals, but then Bucky surprises him.

“I wanna try to get in.”

Steve stops moving Bucky’s feet and stares at him. “You sure, Buck?”

He’s still holding Bucky’s feet so Bucky hasn’t heard him ask the question, but Bucky knows him well. “Yeah, I’m sure. I wanna try. You think you can help lift me back out if I panic?”

Steve releases Bucky’s feet and tells him he could probably throw Bucky up to the moon if he had to.

Bucky snorts. “That’s a bunch of hooey. But it’s the thought that counts. Okay, I wanna hold onto your shoulder, okay? You gotta help me.”

Steve steps closer and nudges Bucky’s legs apart. He puts Bucky’s hand onto his left shoulder and slides his arms around Bucky’s waist. He breathes on Bucky’s face, letting him know how close he is, then he gently nudges his nose with his own.

“Okay, you tell me when.”

His hands can’t do any spelling, but he knows Bucky will let him know when he’s ready. Bucky slides his hand around the back of Steve’s neck and gives a nod. “Okay. I’m ready.”

Bucky slides forward off the pool deck while Steve steps back, pulling Bucky with him.

It seems to be okay—until Bucky is completely off the pool deck and he sinks into the water.

Bucky lets out a startled breath and immediately wraps his legs around Steve’s waist and tightens his grip around Steve’s neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you missed the link in the story, the Y's nude swimming policy was a [real thing](http://www.vocativ.com/culture/fun/fairly-recently-ymca-actually-required-swimmers-nude/index.html)! The reason behind the policy is that the pool water was filtered, but they didn't use the same kinds of disinfectant chemicals that we use today, so boys had to swim nude so they could be inspected for open wounds or signs of illness before they got into the water and risked everybody's health. Hilariously, girls were forced to wear bathing suits, so in reality, most people admitted the nude swimming policy was only in place to "build character" for men. It was a huge, long fight to get rid of the policy, and boys were forced to swim naked until the late 1960s.


	42. Chapter 42

Sitting on the pool deck is actually not that bad. The black water is swirling around his feet while Steve plays with them.

But once he loses the safe, solid pool deck from beneath him and he’s surrounded by that black water, that familiar fear slams back into him.

He can’t feel the ground, he can’t feel the pool deck, and he’s surrounded by this black water.

It’s gonna swallow him, it’s gonna pull him under, he’s never gonna find the bottom because _there isn’t one_ —

In a panic, he clings to the only solid thing he has—which is Steve. He wraps his panicked legs around him and tightens his arm around his neck, clamping himself around Steve’s solid body.

The black water is still lapping against his back, trying to pull him in and get him away from the safety that’s Steve, but Bucky’s not letting go.

He can barely breathe he’s so scared. He can feel Steve’s chest vibrating and Steve’s lips are moving by his ear, probably trying to sooth and comfort him.

He’s probably also asking if Bucky wants to get out.

Yes, yes, that’s exactly what he wants.

“I wanna—I wanna get out. I wanna get out.”

But how can he get out?? He’s only got one arm, and that arm needs to stay wrapped around Steve. In fact, his legs need to stay wrapped around Steve too.

_How can he get out without using his arm or his legs?!_

Suddenly, he feels one of Steve’s arms curling under his butt, he’s being boosted out of the water, and then he’s got the solid pool deck back underneath his butt.

He’s still got his legs and arm wrapped around Steve, but he can’t make himself let go quite yet.

Steve wraps both arms around Bucky and holds him tight. Steve turns his face so his lips are moving against Bucky’s cheek, reassuring him and trying to calm him.

Bucky takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm his racing heart. He’s okay. He’s not in the black water anymore.

Well, his feet are in it, but his feet are wrapped around Steve, so that’s okay. He’s got Steve in front of him and around him, and the pool deck below him.

It’s fine.

Calm down, Barnes. You’re okay. The black water didn’t get you.

Now that he’s starting to calm, he realizes how ridiculous he’s being.

The black water isn’t some evil monster. It’s not ‘trying’ to get him or pull him under. It’s not ‘trying’ to do anything.

It’s just black water. Steve’s standing right in it—he has been for several minutes—and he’s fine. Nothing about Steve feels any different.

So why would the black water target Bucky specifically?

It wouldn’t, of course.

Because it’s just black water, not an evil monster.

Calm down, Barnes. You’re not five years old, you’re nearly thirty.

He forces himself to release his grip on Steve, bringing his hand back to grip the edge of the pool, and swinging his feet until his heels bump into the pool wall.

Steve’s arms are still around him and he’s not moving, waiting for Bucky to tell him what he needs.

“I—I’m okay. You can let go if you want.”

Steve releases him, but he doesn’t go far. He takes Bucky’s hand and tells him he’ll hop out and they can head home.

That…doesn’t sit right with Bucky.

They’ve barely done anything so far. He’s just walked around the pool, put his feet into the water and then had a panic attack because he’s an idiot.

That’s not good enough.

Maybe it’s good enough for Steve, but it’s not good enough for him.

“I wanna try again.”

Steve immediately starts spelling things. Bucky knows what he’s saying without having to track the letters. He curls up his hand, stopping Steve’s fingers. “No, it ain’t good enough. I ain’t happy with how that went and I’ve got enough left in me to try it again. Please?”

Steve hesitates, probably afraid that Bucky will panic worse the second time.

But he won’t. Now that he knows the fear is right around the corner, he can be ready to tackle it.

He traces his hand up Steve’s arm to his face and strokes his cheek. “I’ll be okay, Stevie. I promise. I might be a little scared, but I can do it.”

Finally, Steve taps his hand and spells out ‘ok’.

“You gotta do me a favor though, okay?”

Steve draws a question mark on his palm.

“If I panic again, if it’s just a little panicking, then keep touching me, but don’t lift me out until I say, okay? If I’m too freaked out to talk, then you can get me out, but if I say I’m okay, then let me try. Please?”

Steve hesitates for a second—Bucky knows it’s hard for him to see Bucky being scared and it’ll always be his top priority to make the fear stop by whatever means necessary—but then he taps Bucky’s hand.

Bucky smiles. “Thanks, sweetheart. That means a lot. I know this is tough for you too.” He takes a deep breath. “Okay, let me try again. Hold onto me until I tell you to let go. I know the bottom’s down there somewhere, I just need you to hold me tight until my feet are on it.”

Steve transfers his grip to Bucky’s hips and waits until Bucky’s holding on to his shoulder again. “Okay, let’s go.”

Bucky tightens his grip on Steve’s shoulder and feels Steve slowly pulling him into the black water. His instinct is to wrap his legs around Steve’s waist, but he forces his legs to stay pointing downwards.

The fear is slowly crawling up his throat, but he clenches his jaw and keeps taking deep breaths. He can feel he’s shaking, but he forces himself to point his toes, knowing—hoping, praying—that he’ll touch the pool bottom soon. The black water is sliding further and further up his body.

And finally, his toes touch the solid bottom!

He slides further down until his feet are fully standing on the bottom.

Success!

He takes a deep breath. The black water is up to his waist, but now that he’s got his feet on the bottom, he feels a lot more secure.

He’s got a tight grip on Steve’s shoulder, and he can feel Steve’s tight grip on his hips so he knows he won’t fall over.

They stand there, Steve not moving a muscle.

After a minute, Bucky starts getting used to the sensation of standing in the dark water. “I’m gonna move my hand from your shoulder to the pool edge, okay?”

Steve tightens his grip on Bucky’s hips even more, and Bucky slowly releases Steve’s shoulder and reaches behind him. He smacks his hand into the pool edge—which hurts a bit—but he’s just glad he found it. He curls his fingers around it and plants his feet.

He smiles. “Look at me. I’m standing in the black water.”

He knows Steve is probably saying lots of things—how proud he is, how good Bucky’s doing—but he’s not moving a muscle.

Bucky keeps breathing, willing the fear to stay back. It’s still there—hovering beneath the black water, but as long as Bucky takes it slow, he can conquer it.

“I wanna walk a bit, Steve. Just back and forth along the edge here.”

He turns himself so his right side is next the wall, letting him keep a tight grip on the pool edge. Steve moves with him, keeping his hands on Bucky’s hips and stepping behind him.

Slowly, Bucky moves his feet forward, shuffling along the pool bottom. The tiles under his feet feel different from the ones on the pool deck. They’re smaller and even smoother.

He’s moving along very slowly, but he’s moving…until he feels something touch his waist.

He freezes. “Something’s touching me. What’s touching me?”

Steve doesn’t move for a second, and Bucky realizes they have a bit of a problem. Bucky’s clutching the edge of the pool and Steve’s clutching him. There’s no way for Steve to properly communicate with him.

“Can you wrap one arm around my waist and spell with your other hand?”

Steve moves carefully, pressing himself against Bucky’s back and sliding one arm tightly around his waist. He takes his other hand off Bucky’s hip and runs it along Bucky’s arm to the hand holding the edge of the pool. He gently pries Bucky’s fingers loose and turns his hand just long enough to spell out:

L-A-N-E.

M-A-R-K-E-R.

Then he curls Bucky’s fingers back on the pool edge. Bucky frowns. Lane marker? “What does that mean? Can I touch it?”

Steve pulls Bucky’s hand off the pool edge and guides it to the thing that’s touching him.

It’s hard, plastic and…circular? There are many of these circular things. They’re all in a long row and they’re floating on the water. Bucky explores them further and realizes there’s a metal rope connecting them.

Steve gently turns Bucky’s hand around and tells him the plastic things help the rope float, and the ropes are used to separate the pool into different lanes.

“Oh, so people don’t bump into each other?”

Tap, tap.

Bucky keeps exploring the floating rope, spinning the plastic things and nudging them along the rope.

Alright, enough of that, Barnes. Stay focused. There’s more work to do. Since he’s reached the end of this lane, he wants to find the other side.

“I wanna walk the other way.”

As soon as he’s turned around, he realizes he’s going to have a problem. It’s not as comfortable to hold the pool edge when it’s on his left side. “Can you be my pool edge, Steve? I don’t need you to hold my hips anymore.”

So Steve drapes one arm around Bucky’s waist and holds out his other arm so Bucky can grab his forearm.

Slowly, Bucky shuffles back the way he came.

He keeps walking through the black water until he bumps into something. He loosens his grip on Steve’s arm and touches the new object.

Another lane marker.

It occurs to him that he’s made a lot of progress—Steve’s only got one arm wrapped loosely around his waist, and that’s the only part of him that’s touching Bucky right now.

“I wanna do the walk again, but I wanna try on my own.”

Steve hesitates, then his arm disappears from Bucky’s waist.

Right away, Bucky feels a little more scared. He’s surrounded by the black water, and even though he knows Steve is standing right beside him, he can’t feel him anymore. He might as well be alone in the black water.

But that’s fine, isn’t it? The black water won’t hurt him.

It _won’t_.

He realizes he’s tightened his grip on the plastic floating things. He loosens his grip enough to follow the line of plastic things until he feels the pool edge again.

Using the pool edge as a guide, he turns and slowly shuffles through the water, keeping one hand on the pool edge, and waiting to encounter the other lane marker.

He gets there in way less time than the first trip.

That makes him grin happily. “I’m getting this, Stevie! I’m really getting this. Okay, I wanna walk the other way.”

He turns around, keeping his hand on the wall. Now that he’s getting more comfortable, he doesn’t have to be gripping the edge the whole way. He can keep a loose grip on the wall, letting his fingers run along the edge. He can leave his arm hanging a bit looser, making the awkward position a bit more comfortable.

He’s picking up his feet as he walks now—not a lot, and he’s taking very small steps—but that’s an improvement too. He reaches the lane marker so quickly that he’s surprised more than scared when he feels it hit his waist.

He touches it to double check, then he smiles. “How was that?”

Steve knows that’s his invitation to touch, and Bucky’s being grabbed and happily jostled by a very proud Steve. Bucky turns in Steve’s arms and wraps his arm around him. He bumps his head against Steve’s.

“We did great, Stevie! Really great!”

*             *             *

“You did so good, Buck! So good! I’m so proud of you! You did it all by yourself!”

Steve is so focused on Bucky and the fierce pride glowing in his chest that he doesn’t notice the applauding at first.

Then he looks up, and sees the two lifeguards both smiling and applauding. When they see him looking, the male lifeguard gives him a thumbs up. “That was awesome, man! Awesome!”

Steve smiles. “Thank you. I’ll let him know.”

That’s a lie. Steve knows Bucky hasn’t even thought about the other people in the pool. He probably knows they’re not alone, but he’s so focused on what he’s doing that he’s forgotten about everyone else. Steve hasn’t told Bucky about the other people in the pool or about the lifeguards staring at him. It’s irrelevant for this first trip and Steve doesn’t want to make Bucky feel self-conscious.

“I’m ready to get out,” Bucky says. He’s still got that proud, half-smile on his face, but Steve can tell he’s tired. He’s used up a lot of energy conquering his fears and learning the pool layout.

Steve gives him a kiss on the forehead and taps his hand. “Okay. Lemme help you out.”

He guides Bucky to the pool edge, has him hop up on Steve’s waist again, and Steve boosts him out. Eventually Bucky can learn how to get out on his own, but when he’s only got the one arm to help him, no eyes to guide him and he’s tired, Steve will do the lifting for him.

Steve hops out and helps Bucky stand. Bucky’s already found his cane and he unfolds it while Steve tugs Bucky’s swimming shirt back into place.

“Oh, Steve, wait a second!”

Steve pauses and taps Bucky’s hand.

“Can you do something for me?”

Steve snorts. He pulls the cane out of Bucky’s grip so he can spell on his palm. “Never. I never wanna do anything for you, Buck. Ever.”

Bucky chuckles and smacks Steve on the arm. “Wise cracker. Listen, we did a lot of work here, but we didn’t get a lot of exercise. I ain’t ready to swim around yet, but you can.”

Steve shakes his head. He rubs Bucky’s hand. “It’s okay, Buck. I’ll swim when you’re—”

“If you’re too tired or you don’t wanna, that’s fine, but if you don’t wanna swim cause I can’t swim yet, that’s silly. I can wait right by the wall and I’ll be fine.”

“It’s okay, Buck. Honest. I’m—”

But Bucky’s got that stubborn look on his face. “Stevie, I ain’t asking just to be polite. Exercise is good for depression, right?”

Steve stares at him. “Yeah. Yeah, it is. But—”

Bucky doesn’t wait for Steve to tap his hand. He knows he’s right. “You’ve been doing so good using the bike at home, but I’d love it if you did some more exercise. This is perfect. We’re already at the pool, you’re already wet and I’m comfortable waiting for you. If you really don’t wanna, then tell me and we can go. But I think it would be good for you.”

Steve looks at Bucky, then he looks at the pool. He doesn’t really want to swim, but he knows he’ll probably feel good after exercising.

He bites his lip. “You sure you don’t mind waiting?”

Bucky smiles. He takes his hand out of Steve’s grasp, grabs his cane and carefully makes his way to the wall. Once he’s found it, he slides down and sits with his back against the wall. “There. I’m very comfortable and happy right here and I’m outta the way so nobody’s gonna trip over me,” he says, folding up his cane and putting it into his lap.

Steve stares down at him. He can see Bucky shivering a bit. “Alright, but I’m gonna get you a—”

“You just come tell me when you’re done, but I’m gonna be checking your pulse when you come back, mister, don’t think I won’t.”

Steve goes to him and crouches down. He touches Bucky’s hand, lets him feel the bracelet and then asks him if he’s okay staying here while Steve gets him a towel.

“I’ll be fine. I ain’t gonna move and if somebody bothers me, I’ll explain the situation.”

Steve hurries into the changing room—ignoring the lifeguards’ yells for him not to run on the pool deck—and grabs a towel from their locker. He rushes back out and crouches down by Bucky.

Bucky fiddling with his cane strap and staring vacantly into the distance, but he startles when Steve touches his hand.

“H-hello,” Bucky says. He immediately feels Steve’s wrist and relaxes as soon as he touches the familiar bracelet. Steve puts Bucky’s hand on the towel so he can feel it.

Bucky smiles. “Aw, thank you, punk.” He unfolds it and tries swinging it around his shoulders. Steve knows it’ll take him forever, so he discreetly helps tug it into place.

Bucky leans back against the wall, a happy smile on his face. “There. I’m nice and warm and very comfortable. You go swim now. I’ll keep an eye on things out here.”

Steve bursts out laughing. Bucky finds Steve’s arm and goes up to his face where he can feel his laughter. “I thought that was a good one. I thought it up while you were getting the towel. Now, go!”

He obediently goes back to the pool and picks a lane that’s empty. He hops in and pushes off the wall, sliding through the cool water. When he surfaces, he starts swimming, slowly gliding through the water.

He hasn’t swum in a long time and his arms have a little trouble remembering how to move, but by the time he’s reached the deep end, he’s settled into a comfortable rhythm. He turns at the wall and heads back down. When he reaches the shallow end, he stands up, blinks the water out of his eyes and looks at Bucky.

His fingers are casually fiddling with his cane and he looks calm and content.

Steve pushes off the wall again and does another lap. When he gets back to the shallow end and checks on Bucky again, he’s still fine. By the time he’s done a few laps, he’s satisfied that Bucky’s really safe and comfortable, so he only glances at him briefly before he turns around and heads back down the lane.

He starts pushing himself, swimming faster and not letting himself grab the wall at either end with his hands or stand up in the shallow end. It gets his heart pumping and he can feel his body working.

Bucky was right—this exercise is good. What isn’t good is that he’s noticed his eyes are starting to burn. It’s probably the damn chlorine that’s in the water.

When he’s done, he jumps out of the water and goes over to Bucky. Along the way, he sees a woman hopping out of the lane next to his and he notices she’s got some type of glasses covering her eyes.

Steve will have to get some of those.

He crouches down by Bucky, touches his hand, lets him feel his wrist and then brings Bucky’s fingers to his pulse.

Bucky smiles as soon as he feels it. “Oh, that’s good, Stevie! Well done! I’m so proud of you!” He finds Steve’s cheek, then his forehead and shifts himself up so he can kiss Steve’s forehead.

Steve is feeling pretty damn proud of himself too. He knows he has a silly smile on his face. He takes Bucky’s hand, kisses his palm and tells him they both did a really good job today.

He decides to keep his burning eyes to himself for now. He’ll find the glasses things online and get them each a pair, then he’ll tell Bucky about it. Bucky’s so happy right now that Steve doesn’t want to distract him with bad news.

“You bet we did a good job! And don’t worry, I’m gonna be swimming laps with you before you know it. Now, help this old man up, will you?”

Steve hauls him up and Bucky unfolds his cane. “Let me find the right changing room. And hey—” Bucky stops. “Are you too tired to walk home? You want a hackie?”

Steve rubs his hand. His heart rate is already back to normal. He tells Bucky it’s up to him.

Bucky shakes him head. “I’ve got enough left. I can do it.”

And he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed our first trip to the pool!


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The very talented [Lena7142](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lena7142/pseuds/Lena7142) has drawn an [amazing sketch](http://portraitoftheoddity.tumblr.com/post/165959900709/a-quick-bucky-from-diamondravens-fic-holding) of Bucky walking with his cane. Please go admire it before proceeding with the chapter!
> 
> In this chapter, we're heading back to the pool for Adventure #2!

“I still can’t—I mean, Sam—he was terrified. _Terrified_! And then ten minutes later, he’s walking around in the water by himself. _By_. _Himself_.”

Sam chuckles fondly. “He’s an amazing guy.”

“The word ‘amazing’ doesn’t seem good enough, Sam.” Steve is still in awe over how well Bucky did at the pool. Most importantly, Bucky told Steve as soon as they got home that he wants to go back and do more things soon. They’re going back as soon as their goggles—which is what the internet had said the swimming glasses are called—arrive.

“That’s—I don’t even know what to say.”

Steve laughs. “I know. Me neither. Good thing I don’t gotta say anything if I don’t got the words. I’ve got all kinds of different kisses I can use instead.”

“You’re such a sap, it’s adorable. Anyway, listen. If you guys are gonna go back, then I think you should introduce Bucky to the lifeguards, and vice versa.”

Steve frowns. “Why? They just stare at him like he’s some kind of weird creature.”

“People are gonna stare at Bucky for the rest of his life, that’s just a fact. You can’t judge people based on that or you’ll be dismissing 90% of the population without even getting to know them. But the lifeguards are critical, man.”

“Why? I can save Bucky a lot faster than they can.”

“And what if something happens to you, huh? What if you slip and hit your head on the deck? How are they gonna know how to communicate with Bucky?”

Steve snorts. “I doubt they know the deafblind manual alphabet.”

“They don’t have to. But at least you should explain Bucky’s disabilities and teach them how to have basic conversations with him. How to do yes and no and how to spell out their own names, things like that. If something happens to you, then at least they’ll be able to answer Bucky’s questions and keep him out of danger. That’s your top priority, right? Making sure Bucky’s safe and taken care of?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Of course it is.”

“Then you gotta have back up plans, and the lifeguards are good back up plans.”

*             *             *

Steve buys them each membership passes for the Y, and once their goggles have arrived, they’re eager to get back to the pool for their second try.

Before they go, Steve explains that they’ll use their walk around the pool to talk to the lifeguards.

It surprises Bucky a bit. He’d completely forgotten about the other people at the pool the last time. He hadn’t even been aware that he’d walked past the lifeguards multiple times.

When they get on the deck, Bucky with his cane and both of them with their goggles on their foreheads, Steve tells him the lifeguards are the same two as last time.

“That’s good. If these are their regular shifts then I don’t gotta remember so many different people.”

They do one walk-around with Bucky paying attention to the pool and during their next round, Bucky focuses more on Steve.

He’s ready for it when Steve squeezes his arm, stopping him, and spells on his hand. He tells him they’re talking to the male lifeguard. His name is Taj. Steve steps on Bucky’s foot.

“Hi, Taj. My name is Bucky. Nice to meet you.” He sticks out his hand and then it’s being shaken by a strange hand.

He waits until Steve tells him to go ahead and explain. That means Steve’s told Taj that Bucky needs to explain some things to him.

“So, I’m deafblind. I can’t see and I can’t hear. Not even a little bit. And I’m sure you can see, I’m missing my left arm. Steve will always be here to help me, but if you need to talk to me, you can do that. You should touch my hand so I know you’re about to talk to me, and you should be ready to answer yes and no questions.”

He demonstrates how to do their yes and no signals.

Then he asks Taj if he’d be comfortable learning how to spell his own name. “It’s just three letters, it’s not hard. But it’s okay if you don’t want to. It would be nice so I know who I’m talking to, but it’s not necessary.”

Taj agrees to learn, so Bucky takes his hand and carefully spells out the three letters. He waits for Taj to practice a few times. When Bucky can recognize what he’s spelling, he smiles.

“That’s great! Good job, Taj. Thank you very much for being willing to learn. That’ll help me a lot if there’s an emergency.”

Bucky can feel Steve’s foot resting on his—Steve getting ready to signal that they’re saying good bye to Taj—but Steve’s foot hesitates, then moves away.

Okay. They’re not done the conversation yet.

Then Steve tells him that Taj has said he’ll come over and take Bucky’s cane when he’s in the water and put it into the staff room to keep it safe. When he’s ready to get out of the water, he should let Taj know, and he’ll bring his cane.

Bucky smiles, touched by the kind gesture. “That’s very nice, thank you, Taj. My cane is real important to me so that means a lot.”

Then Steve does step on his foot twice, so Bucky says good bye to Taj, and they resume their walk around the pool.

By the time they’ve looped around, the lifeguards have switched positions, so they repeat the whole discussion with the other lifeguard—Lisa, who is also willing to learn how to spell her name—and then it’s finally time to get back in the water.

*             *             *

To Steve’s surprise, Bucky gets into the water much faster than the first time. Steve slides in ahead of him and lets him get used to his feet being in the water, but in just a few minutes, Bucky says he’s ready to get in.

Steve sees Taj approaching them.

“Should I take the cane?”

“Just a second. Let me ask Buck.” Steve asks Bucky if Taj can put his cane away.

“Oh, yeah. Go ahead, Taj. Thank you very much.”

Taj grabs the folded cane off the deck and disappears in the staff room with it. Steve watches him go, noting that there’s no lock on the door. If something happens, Steve can go in and get the cane back.

It’s not that he distrusts Taj…

….no, he _does_ distrust Taj. He doesn’t know the man…yet.

Maybe he’ll turn out to be a stand-up kind of fella, but Steve isn’t letting his guard down around either Taj or Lisa yet.

“You ready, Steve? Let’s go.”

He focuses back on Bucky, forgetting all about the other people in the pool. He helps Bucky slide his hand onto Steve’s shoulder, grabs Bucky’s hips and slowly helps pull him into the water.

“That’s great, Buck. You’re doing really good. You’re almost at the bottom…almost….okay, there—”

“I’m touching the bottom, Steve. I did it! That went really well, huh? But don’t let go yet.”

“I ain’t moving til you say so. You know that.”

That’s when a strange voice calls out: “Excuse me?” The voice sounds annoyed.

Steve is busy keeping an eye on Bucky, so he ignores the voice at first. But when there’s another annoyed “Hello? Excuse me?”, Steve looks up.

There’s a middle aged man standing on the pool deck, dressed in swimming trunks with goggles strapped to his head.

“Yes?”

“You’re in the fast lane.”

What? Steve frowns. “I’m what?”

The man sighs and rolls his eyes. “You’re. In. The. Fast. Lane. And you ain’t exactly moving fast.”

Steve is even more confused. Bucky is starting to shuffle along the wall, so Steve keeps up with him, but he’s still trying to figure out what the man is saying.

“I’m sorry, I—”

“Sir?” He hears Lisa call out. “Sir? I’m sorry about that. They’re new and don’t know about the lane signs. I’ll switch them.”

Steve looks down to the other end of the pool and sees that there are plastic signs sitting on the diving blocks, one for each lane. One lane says ‘slow’, three say ‘medium’ and two lanes, including the one Steve and Bucky are in say ‘fast’. Steve had picked it because the other lanes all had people in them.

He watches as Lisa takes one of the ‘slow’ signs and switches it with the ‘fast’ sign. There’s an old man slowly moving along in the former slow lane, and Lisa bends down and chats with him for a second, pointing at Steve and Bucky’s lane, which has now become the ‘slow’ lane.

The man nods and ducks under the lane markers until he’s in Steve and Bucky’s lane.

The annoyed man goes to the new fast lane, hops in and swims off.

Okay. Steve needs to read the signs better.

Bucky has reached one lane marker. “Let me try on my own, Steve.”

Steve takes his hands off Bucky and shuffles back just a bit. He watches Bucky turn around and carefully touch the pool edge with his hand. He slowly walks along, letting his fingers run along the edge.

Steve watches his feet and he’s pleased to see Bucky lifting his feet a lot more than the first day. He smiles. “You’re doing so good, Buck. So good.”

He hears some splashing behind him and he sees the old man approaching them. Steve spares him a little smile, then focuses back on Bucky. If the man gets too close, Steve will deal with it. Until then, he’s not going to bother Bucky with the news that they’re sharing a lane.

But the old man seems to understand that Steve and Bucky need space, because he stops and turns around when he’s several yards away from them and heads back down the lane.

Looks like Steve doesn’t have to worry about their lane mate.

After Bucky walks back and forth along the wall a few more times, he says he wants to walk along the lane markers.

“The water’s gonna get deep, Buck,” Steve reminds him.

“I know. That’s why I wanna try.”

Bucky holds onto the lane marker and slowly walks away from the wall. Steve carefully keeps pace with him, keeping one hand pressed against Bucky’s hip to let him know he’s right there.

The pool stays shallow for several steps until they hit a steep slope. With each step, the water climbs several inches higher on Bucky, covering his waist, then his stomach and eventually crawling up his chest. The deeper they get, the tenser Bucky gets and Steve can see him getting pale and trembling a bit. His grip on the lane markers is very tight.

“You’re doing awesome, Buck. You can turn around whenever you want.”

Despite his fear, Bucky keeps going until the water is up to his neck. “Okay, I’m gonna turn around now. Can you help me?”

Steve wraps his arms around Bucky and helps him release the lane marker. Steve slowly spins him around and gets Bucky’s hand back on the lane marker. It’s an awkward position since Bucky has to reach across his entire body to hold the plastic disks.

Bucky frowns. “I wanna use the other lane marker, Steve. Can you hold my hand while we walk across?”

“Of course, Buck. Nice and slow.”

He curls his hand over Bucky’s fingers and slowly transfers his grip into Steve’s hand. Then they’re walking to the other side of the lane. The water is up to their necks and their only point of contact is their hands. Steve’s just as tense as Bucky, but Bucky looks calm and there’s no panic on his face.

There’s a proud smile on Steve’s face. “You’re doing so good, Buck. You’re being so damn brave right now.”

They find the other lane marker. When Bucky has secured his grip on it, he starts walking back towards the shallow end. “You can let go. Let me try on my own.”

Steve takes a few steps back and slowly follows along beside him. He glance up and down their lane and sees that the old man is confining his exercises to the deep end of the lane.

Steve raises his arm. “Thank you, sir.”

The old man nods and resumes his journey towards the shallow end when Bucky’s getting close to the wall.

When Bucky reaches the wall, he grins happily. “That went real well, didn’t it?”

Steve happily taps Bucky’s hand that’s on the pool wall and turns his hand over so he can spell. “I think it went fantastic! Good job! You wanna call it a day?”

Bucky frowns. “Why? You tired?”

Steve rubs his hand.

“Well, I ain’t tired either. I wanna try more things.”

Apparently Barnes came with a list of things he wants to accomplish today and he’s refusing to call it quits until he’s done them all.

He puts his goggles over his eyes and dunks himself under the water—first tightly holding onto the pool edge, and then holding Steve’s hand. He tries it a bunch of times, each time loosening his grip on Steve’s hand. Eventually, he releases Steve’s hand while he’s under and surfaces by himself, a proud smile on his face.

He shakes the water out of his ears, his hair stuck flat to his head. “That wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be!”

Steve smiles and happily jostles Bucky’s hand.

Then Bucky says he wants to get his feet off the bottom. They debate how he wants to do it, and they decide it’s better if Steve is his main support, rather than the wall.

Steve holds out one arm, which Bucky grabs onto, and then slowly lifts Bucky’s legs up with his other arm until he’s floating on his stomach.

Bucky’s gone pale and quiet as soon as his feet had left the bottom, but he doesn’t look panicked. Steve waits, watching Bucky’s face for any sign that his fear is getting worse rather than better.

Eventually, Bucky calms. “Can you move me around the water a bit?”

Steve slowly starts spinning in circles, dragging Bucky through the water.

“Not too fast!”

“I know, Buck. Don’t worry.” Bucky gets disoriented very easily if he’s moving too quickly so Steve keeps his spinning nice and slow.

Eventually Bucky starts smiling. “This is fun.”

Steve laughs. “It’s a good thing we’re in the water, Buck. I don’t think I can swing your butt around like this when we’re—”

“Okay, we can stop now. I wanna try something else.”

Bucky climbs off Steve’s arms and transfers his grip to Steve’s hand. They’re standing in the middle of the lane and Bucky seems completely comfortable only holding Steve’s hand.

“Alright, now I wanna try swimming down the lane.”

That makes the smile freeze on Steve’s face. “I—how Buck? You ain’t ready to be swimming laps by—”

“Can we do it with you holding me up?”

Steve thinks it over. Doing it in the shallow end is one thing, but supporting Bucky’s weight when they’re in deeper water is something else. He knows he can hold Bucky up if he has to, but Bucky weighs almost as much as he does. The lane markers aren’t that strong and wouldn’t be able to support their combined weight if something went wrong.

“I—Buck, I don’t think that’s safe.”

Bucky’s hopeful expression starts to fade the longer Steve’s silence stretches. “If you ain’t comfortable then we can—”

Steve rubs his hand. “No, no. Just let me think for a second.” He tells Bucky it isn’t safe for them to swim like that in the deeper water.

Steve looks around. Surely they have something that helps keep children afloat when they’re learning how to swim?

His eyes catch on their lane-mate, who is slowly moving away from them. He’s holding a floating board in his hands while he kicks his feet.

That’s what they need. Something buoyant that Bucky can grab onto—or that Steve can grab onto if things go sideways.

He looks around and sees Lisa standing in her usual spot. “Uh, Lisa?” Steve calls over. “Can I ask you something?”

She wanders up to his lane. “Yeah?”

Steve points at their lane-mate. “Where can we get one of those floating things?”

Lisa frowns. “A kickboard?”

Sure. “Yes. A kickboard.”

“I’ll grab you one.” She saunters off to a cupboard by the staff room and digs around in it. She pulls out a red kickboard and brings it over to their lane.

Steve tells Bucky they’re going to get some pool equipment from Lisa that will help them swim safely. They walk to the pool edge to meet Lisa.

She hands Steve the kickboard. “Are you using it or is Bucky going to swim?” she asks.

“Buck’s gonna try, but I’m worried about us getting into a bad situation if he panics. I’m fine when I can touch the bottom, but the deeper water may be a problem.”

She nods. “I agree. If he panics, he’ll probably grab the lane marker first, then that’ll sink, and then he’ll grab onto you. It’s a textbook example of how drownings happen. He won’t even realize he’s pushing you under because of his panic. Hang on, I have another idea.”

She goes back to the cupboard and pulls out a thick green foam pad that has a belt strapped through it.

“What the hell is that?”

Lisa smiles. “It’s a flotation belt. People use them for doing deep water exercises. They’ll keep you floating but aren’t as cumbersome as lifejackets.”

She demonstrates how to attach it around her own waist, then hands it to Steve.

“That’s great. Thank you, Lisa. We’ll give it a try.”

She shoots him a worried frown. “Just a sec.” She looks towards the staff room. “Taj! Get out here for a minute.”

Taj appears in the doorway, eating a sandwich. “Yeah?”

“Bucky’s gonna try to swim. You wanna watch him and I’ll do the rest of the pool?”

Steve immediately feels bad. “No, no. Go ahead and finish your dinner, Taj. I’ll get Bucky set up with the devices and we’ll practice in the shallow end first.”

Bucky’s been his usual patient self, quietly holding onto the edge of the pool and waiting for his cues.

While Taj finishes eating, Steve tells Bucky about the flotation devices, telling him what they’re called and letting him touch them.

*             *             *

Bucky likes the idea of floating devices right away. He already figured out the lane markers aren’t very sturdy, and he knows he’ll be putting Steve in a dangerous situation if he panics in the deep water. The last thing he wants is to hurt Steve—or worse.

But these floating things will help.

Steve helps him put the belt around his waist. Bucky doubts that it’ll actually do the job, until he holds onto Steve’s arm and slowly lifts his feet off the bottom. There’s a twinge of panic when he sinks a bit, but eventually he stabilizes—and he’s floating!

He’s tightly clutching Steve’s arm, but that’s the only part of him that’s touching anything other than black water. He’s floating in the black water and it’s not that bad. It’s scary, but doable.

Well, look at that, Barnes!

He can feel that he’s shaking a bit, but the smile on his face grows the longer he’s floating. “I’m okay, Stevie. Not a hundred percent, but it’s not that bad.”

Steve tells him that Taj wants Bucky to hold onto the kickboard too, and then Steve will get him floating on his stomach again.

Steve lifts him up again so he’s floating on his stomach, but instead of holding onto Steve’s arm, Bucky’s holding onto the kickboard. It’s thick and solid in his hands and Bucky immediately likes it too.

Steve’s got one arm supporting Bucky’s legs and the other underneath Bucky’s arm. They slowly move in a circle, the black water rippling along Bucky’s body.

It’s actually really nice. He can feel that the belt and the kickboard are holding him up more than Steve’s arms are.

“Steve, you can let go.”

The slow spinning stops and Steve’s hesitating. Bucky smiles. “It’s okay. Just let go for a second and if I sink like a stone, grab me. But I don’t think I will. These devices are great!”

Bucky prepares himself, mentally telling himself he’s okay. He’s in the shallow end. He knows the bottom is right underneath him. He can just put his feet down and he’ll be okay.

He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay.

He keeps his breathing even and focuses on the feel of the belt around his waist.

He feels Steve’s arms slowly pulling away. He sinks a little bit, but not enough for panic. His body settles and then he’s floating by himself.

He’s floating in the black water all by himself!

“I’m doing it, Steve! I’m really doing it!”

He knows Steve is probably saying lots of wonderful things, but he’s happy that Steve isn’t touching him. The last thing he wants is to be disturbed by any tapping or jostling.

Bucky gradually relaxes and dips his face into the water. He purses his lips, blows air into the black water and feels the water bubbling up around his face. The goggles are doing their job and his eyes aren’t hurting at all.

This black water isn’t so bad after all.

He pulls his face out of the water. “Okay, let’s try swimming now.”

He doesn’t know exactly how it’s going to work, but eventually he feels the kickboard being pulled away from him. He tightens his grip on it, and feels himself being pulled forward.

Steve—hopefully it’s Steve and not some stranger trying to steal his kickboard—is pulling him forward.

Bucky lets himself be pulled forward for a while. He’s enjoying the feeling of moving through the smooth, cool water. He realizes he doesn’t really care that he doesn’t know whether he can still reach the bottom of the pool or not. With his flotation devices, he doesn’t need the bottom.

“This is real nice, Stevie. Real nice.” He dips his nose into the black water, feeling the water streaming past it and blows some bubbles. It’s nice and relaxing.

Eventually he realizes he’s letting Steve do all the work, so he starts kicking his feet to help move them along. The speed of the water rushing past him quickens.

Then Bucky feels the kickboard being pushed. Like Steve is trying to slow them down.

Sure enough, he feels the board jostle a bit and then a hand his squeezing his upper arm.

Bucky knows what that means. He stops kicking his feet. “We reached the end?”

A tap on his hand. “Let me feel!”

The kickboard is slowly pulled forward until it bumps into something solid. That must be the pool wall. He’s facing a dilemma: he doesn’t want to let go of his wonderful kickboard, but he does want to touch the pool edge. This is the first time they’ve made it to the deep end and he wants to make it official.

Once again, his left arm’s early retirement is not making things easy.

“I—I don’t know how to do this, Steve. I wanna touch the pool edge but I don’t wanna let go of the kickboard.”

His problem is solved when he feels himself being pushed sideways, until he feels something familiar brush against his side.

The lane marker. He’d noticed that close to the walls, the lane markers tend to be sturdy enough to support more of his weight.

He takes a deep breath and quickly moves his grip from the kickboard to the lane marker, clutching the plastic circles in a tight grip.

He did it fast enough that he didn’t sink.

Now that he’s holding onto something familiar, he pulls himself along with the lane marker until he gets to the wall.

It’s only when he’s holding onto the wall that he decides to put his feet down.

He mentally prepares himself. He _knows_ they’re in the deep end. He knows he won’t be able to touch the bottom. He shouldn’t expect there to be a bottom. There won’t be one.

Okay, ready, Barnes?

Put your feet down and just let them hang.

He focuses on his breathing and his grip on the pool edge. Slowly, he lets his feet down.

As much as he’s prepared for it, it still feels weird that there’s nothing under his feet. His toes brush the pool wall, but there’s nothing under his feet but more black water.

But that’s okay. He’s got the pool wall and his wonderful belt.

In fact…

“Steve, I’m gonna let go of the wall. It’ll be okay. If I panic real bad, just get my hand back on the wall.”

He takes a deep breath, calms the fear that’s starting to squawk in his head and slowly releases the wall, one finger at a time.

He feels himself sink a little, but he knows he won’t go under. If the belt kept him up in the shallow end, it’ll do the same here.

Slowly, he takes his last finger off the wall. He keeps his hand hovering over the wall so he can grab it if he needs it. And…

…he’s fine.

He can’t feel anything around him except black water, and he’s fine. Nothing bad is happening.

The black water is lapping against his shirt and neck and he feels the current in the water when he moves his feet back and forth, but he’s not sinking. He’s fine.

“Would you look at that! Stevie, look at me! I’m in the water all by myself!” He knows Steve is only a few inches away, watching him and saying wonderful things, but keeping his distance so Bucky can do it by himself.

Gradually, Bucky brings his hand into the water and spins himself in a slow circle. He feels the lane marker as he passes, then he’s got no guides until his fingers brush the pool wall again.

Alright, now time to head back to the shallow end. And this time he’ll do more work. “Okay, gimme my kickboard back and we’ll go back to the other end, okay?”

Bucky feels a gentle tap on his hand, then he feels the solid, thick kickboard being pushed against his hand. He grips it and brings his legs back up so he’s floating.

“Here we go!”

He can feel a tug on the kickboard, which means Steve has started moving. Bucky kicks his feet, helping propel them through the water. They’re moving faster than they had on the way down and Bucky knows it’s because they’re both more comfortable.

When they get to the other end, Bucky’s kickboard bumps into the wall and he transfers his grip to the lane marker with no assistance. This time he knows he’ll be able to touch the bottom and when he puts his feet down, it actually feels strange to have solid ground beneath his feet.

“We did it! Look at that!”

He carefully puts the kickboard up on the edge of the pool so it doesn’t float away. Now he’s ready for some happy jostling or tapping or kissing or whatever else Steve is wanting to give him.

Bucky turns around, feeling for Steve. He finds him standing right behind him. He smacks into Steve’s chest first and finds his arm and the familiar bracelet first.

He doesn’t want to accidentally be touching some stranger. He knows Steve would never let a stranger stand this close to Bucky without telling him about it, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.

Once he’s verified that it’s Steve, he holds out his hand, thinking that Steve probably has a lot he’s been wanting to say.

Steve immediately starts spelling, telling him Taj is very impressed with how well he did. Apparently he’d been shouting encouragements the whole time they were swimming.

Bucky grins. “Thank you, Taj! That means a lot. I’m glad it went well. And thanks for keeping an eye on us.” It makes him a feel a lot better that Taj had been watching them during their swim.

Once Steve is done talking, Bucky runs his hand up to Steve’s face. As expected, Steve’s got a huge smile on his face. Steve kisses Bucky’s palm and happily jostles it.

Bucky smiles. “We did good, huh? That went real well. Come here.”

He curls his arm around Steve’s neck and pulls him close, feeling Steve press his face against Bucky’s neck, his smile right against Bucky’s skin so he can feel it. Steve’s arms wrap around him very tightly.

“I couldn’t have done it without you. Well, maybe I could have eventually, but it would’ve taken me forever to feel comfortable without you here. We both did a great job and I’m proud of both of us.”

He squeezes the back of Steve’s neck and discreetly kisses Steve’s neck, aware that they might have an audience.

He waits until they’ve calmed down a bit, then he releases Steve. He finds Steve’s hand and squeezes it. “Now, you gonna go for a swim on your own or you wanna head home?”

Steve tells him he’ll go get Bucky’s towel first. Bucky feels Steve wraps his arms around his hips to boost him out, but Bucky thinks this is something else he wants to try today.

“Let me try on my own. I think I can do it.”

Bucky turns so he’s sideways against the pool edge. He puts his hand flat on the pool edge, ducks down and pushes himself up, hauling his body up onto the edge.

He doesn’t aim right and he only gets a bit of his butt on the edge, so he’s falling back towards the water—but before he can start to panic, he feels Steve’s arms grabbing him and getting him back on his feet in the water.

“Shit! Let me try again.”

Steve keeps his arms around him until Bucky tells him he’s ready to try again. This time, he uses his arm to pull his body more towards the edge when he’s boosting himself out of the water…

…and he feels his butt land on the pool deck with a thud. Success! He shuffles further back so he won’t accidentally fall in again.

“That went much better! Look at all the things we managed to do today! Taj? Taj, can you get me my cane, please?”

Several things happen. He feels the water shifting around his legs and then he feels somebody brushing his side. Steve must have gotten out.

Then he feels a hand touch his shoulder and move to his hand. He immediately feels for the wrist, expecting it to be Steve…and there _is_ a bracelet…

…but it doesn’t feel right.

It’s soft and made from thread. Definitely not leather. And it doesn’t have the bead or the notches.

For the first time since Steve had made his bracelets, Bucky is very happy that he’d made such distinct ones.

This is definitely not Steve. It’s probably Taj, but he shouldn’t assume.

“Oh, hello. Do I know you?”

His hand is being smoothed out and three letters are spelled very carefully on his hand. T-A-J.

“Oh, hello, Taj! Great job doing the spelling! Do you have my cane?”

The hand leaves his palm, and a familiar bundle of metal rods is pressed into it. “Thank you very much!”

Bucky unfolds the cane and carefully gets up, moving himself towards the wall so he can sit out of the way. “Stevie, I’m fine. Can you grab me my towel?”

A few minutes later, another hand touches his and he feels the wrist and feels the bracelet.

It’s leather.

There’s a bead and then notches. Di, di, dit. Dah.

“Hey, Stevie.”

The towel is pressed into his hand and Steve helps him drape it over his shoulders. Once Bucky’s comfortable and he folds up his cane and directs a smile Steve’s way.

“Alright, I’m okay. You go and swim. Try to do two more laps than last time, okay? I wanna feel that pulse when you’re done.”


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank [Lena7142](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lena7142/pseuds/Lena7142) who suggested the boys learn how to make pinhole art, which they start doing in this chapter.
> 
> I also want to thank [Noksoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/noksoo/pseuds/noksoo), who suggested the boys learn about the NY subway Poetry in Motion program.
> 
> These next few chapters will be focused on the NY subway system, which has always been and will always be a huge part of our Brooklyn boys’ lives.

Bucky’s pulling clothes out of the closet, getting dressed after his shower. He’s already pulled underwear and socks out of the drawer, now it’s time for everything else.

A few weeks ago, he’d told Steve that he was tired of having his clothes picked out for him. Steve had shrugged and told him he’s free to pick out his own clothes whenever he wants.

“It ain’t that simple, punk. I don’t care what I look like when we’re at home, but I don’t wanna just yank thing outta the closet and risk looking like a goof when I’m walking around outside. How many years did we spend having people judge us for the way we were dressed, huh? I ain’t doing that again.”

It’s true. Even if somebody didn’t know that Steve and Bucky were dirt poor back then, one look at their clothes gave it away.

Steve was so small and thin that it was always a struggle finding him clothes. He’d be stuck with donations from neighbors or the church. Mrs. R was really good with a sewing needle and she did her best, but there was only so much she could do with garments that were made for somebody three times Steve’s height and width. She had better luck making clothes from scratch, but people could tell from miles away that Steve was wearing pants or a jacket that used to be a curtain or a tablecloth.

Bucky wasn’t much better off, even though he had an easier time finding clothes that fit him. If new clothes became available, they always went to Steve first. That was the rule. Anything that would keep Steve warmer went to Steve first, and Mrs. R and Bucky came second. Bucky’s clothes might have fit him better than Steve’s, but Bucky put his poor clothes through a lot. He worked in them, he sweat in them and when it was real cold and Steve needed all the blankets, he slept in them too. They got worn out fast. They’d sew patches to the holes on his elbows and knees, they’d attach thick strips of other fabric to the hems so the threads wouldn’t unravel and when he’d start losing buttons, they’d have to re-arrange the other buttons so he could still keep the jackets and shirts closed against the winter chill. Anybody seeing either him or Steve could tell they were poor from a block away.

Now that they can afford more clothes, he doesn’t want people staring at him because of his clothes anymore. He’s aware that people are staring at him for other reasons these days, but his clothes don’t need to attract any attention. That means he doesn’t want to be walking around with mis-matched clothes on, but there’s a way to prevent that from happening which doesn’t include Steve having to pick out his clothes for him every single day.

“Look, the problem is that I don’t know what goes with what. But if all our clothes went together, then I can pick out anything I want, and I’ll look okay. Just get rid of crazy looking things that only look good with certain clothes, and I can do the rest.”

So Steve had donated the shirts and sweaters with loud patterns to a charity, and he’d focused on buying plain-colored or lightly patterned clothes which could all be mixed and matched with each other. He always buys the same size of clothes, so they don’t have to worry about keeping things separate in the closet. The clothes are a little snug on Steve and a little loose on Bucky, but that’s how they each prefer it anyway. The looser clothes are comforting to Bucky, and Steve still gets excited that he can wear clothes that are too tight on him.

Bucky can pick out any combination of shirts, pants and sweaters and not look like a fabric store threw up on him. The actual colors that he’s wearing no longer matter to him. For some reason, the mental image of certain clothes which he recognizes by their texture always appear in a specific color, and that’s the color he always sees them as, but he has no idea if the color he’s picturing is correct. He doesn’t bother asking Steve, because he really doesn’t care what color anything is anymore. He’s got other things to focus on. Steve has reassured him that he’s checked every combination of clothes they own, and no combination will make him look ridiculous, so he doesn’t have to worry.

He picks a pair of pants and a shirt at random, then feels the array of sweaters until he finds the ones without a left sleeve. He used to wear whichever one he grabbed first and would only focus on wearing the ones without a left sleeve if they were going out, but it’s actually very inconvenient to have the left sleeve flapping all over the place. Often Bucky forgets about it and it ends up in his food or in the sink or worse: in an art project.

These days, Steve has made enough of them that he can always wear one of his adjusted sweaters.

Before he starts getting dressed, he grabs the motion sensor band off the bedside table. Now he’s ready to start.

He’d gotten tired of Steve having to always pull the arm band onto his arm. It never took Steve very long, but it was another one of those simple, daily tasks that Bucky really wanted to do on his own. He’d asked Steve if he could re-configure the band and make it one he could strap to his thigh instead, like his cane holster. Because Steve is wonderful, he’d made the strap a near-replica of his cane holster strap, so putting it on feels familiar.

He doesn’t wear his cane holster around the apartment anymore, so whenever they’re at home, he straps the motion sensor band around his thigh. When they go out, he swaps it for the cane holster.

It’s been a huge boost to his self-confidence that he doesn’t need Steve’s help for any of his morning routine anymore.

He tugs his underwear on and sits on the bed to pull each sock on, one at a time. It’s always a bit of a struggle to get the sock oriented right, but eventually it’s hugging his foot properly.

Once his pants are on, he sits on the floor, straps his motion sensor onto his leg, and then it’s time for his shirt. That always takes a while. He has to pay careful attention when he’s pulling on a shirt, or he’ll mess up which holes to put which body part through and it’ll turn into a disaster.

Once the shirt is on, he goes through the same process to pull the sweater on. It’s a little easier due to the left sleeve being sewn shut, so he only has two holes to battle with.

When all his clothes are on, he tugs everything into place, making sure he didn’t forget to do up his zipper and double checking that he isn’t wearing his sweater inside-out.

“Everything feels good. Good job, Barnes,” he mumbles to himself.

The second he determines he’s satisfied, his motion sensor starts vibrating.

It’s not a door or window alarm—it’s Steve calling him.

And the only reason Steve would be calling him within seconds of Bucky finishing his dressing routine is because the punk is watching him.

Bucky turns towards the bedroom door and grins. “You’ve been standing there, waiting for me to finish getting dressed just so you can push the button, instead of walking yourself over, didn’t you? You’re getting way too lazy in your old age, Rogers.”

He makes his ways to the door, finds Steve leaning against the doorframe like he knew he would be, gives him a smack on the stomach and grabs his chin so he can kiss him.

Steve’s arms wrap around his waist and pull him close. Bucky can feel the smile on his lips in between kisses.

“Hey, guess what?” he whispers.

Steve’s fingers have snuck underneath the sweater and shirt and are drawing a question mark on his ribs.

“I love you,” Bucky says, grinning.

He feels Steve’s smile against his cheek, and then Steve is taking Bucky’s hand and pressing his fingers to his lips.

‘I love you, Buck.’

It always makes Bucky smiles. Always.

“So, what did you actually want? Or were you just being your annoying punk self?”

Steve tells him he found a new art method he can try.

“Oh, really? What?”

[Pinhole art](http://www.designsponge.com/2010/07/diy-project-brennas-pinhole-artwork.html).

“Huh? I don’t know what that is.”

Steve tells him he didn’t understand it either but he’s looked at examples and it looks perfect for him.

“Alright, can we work on it now or do we need to buy supplies?”

It turns out they have all the supplies they need. Steve brings him to the table and tells him to sit and wait. A few minutes go by, then something is pushed beneath Bucky’s fingers.

He recognized it right away. It’s the thick card paper clipped to the clipboard, with a foam pad in between. It’s the set-up Steve uses to create raised line templates for Bucky.

It’s on the tip of his tongue to ask why Steve is giving him something he’s already familiar with, when Steve tells him he’s about to hand him a thumbtack, so he needs to be careful and not prick himself.

“Okay. Why exactly are you giving me a thumbtack?”

According to Steve, ‘he’ll see’.

“No, I really won’t. Ha ha.” And because that’s hilarious, he chuckles to himself while Steve lightly smacks him over the head and gives his hand a shake to make him pay attention.

Something plastic is pushed against his index finger. He figures out it’s the tip of a thumbtack when Steve wraps the rest of his fingers around it. He pulls Bucky’s hand across the paper, finds a good spot and gently presses the thumbtack down. Bucky feels a little resistance as the needle point presses against the paper, until the paper gives way and the tack easily penetrates the foam underneath. Eventually he can’t push the tack any further and Steve pulls on his hand to take it out of the paper.

They move his hand a little over and make another hole.

And then another.

And another.

Bucky isn’t really seeing the point of it, until Steve stops him and tells him to take the paper off the clipboard and flip it over.

Doing as requested, he flips the paper over and runs his fingers over it.

And to his surprise, he can feel the little pin-pricks they had created in the paper! He’d thought the holes would be too small and the raised edges from the pricks wouldn’t be high enough, but the card paper is thick enough to create a tactile effect.

He grins. “Oh, this is neat! I wanna try making something.”

Flipping the paper back over, he re-attaches it to the clipboard and holds his hand out for the thumbtack. Once he has it, he carefully pokes five little holes in a row, then does a ninety degree turn, makes five more holes and continues in that pattern.

He can’t really feel if he’s doing a good job until he flips the paper over, and then he’s pleased to feel that he managed to create a square shape.

Well—the last hole isn’t right by the first hole so technically it’s not a very nice square, but it’s a decent first attempt.

Steve squeezes his hand and tells him it looks great.

Bucky snorts. “No, it doesn’t. But this is fun! Let me try some more things.”

*             *             *

It _is_ fun, but it doesn’t come without a learning curve. Since Bucky can’t see where he’s poking the holes and he can’t really tell where the holes are unless he flips the paper over, Steve gets him a set of plastic drawing stencils to use as guides.

They contain basic shapes—squares, circles, triangles, hexagons—and he can use them as line guides or use the entire shape. The results are fantastic, so Steve buys him more [complex stencils](http://www.craftsforkids.org/product/eco-friendly-large-drawing-stencils-set-for-kids-350-designs-extra-paper-for-arts-and-crafts-coloring-lightweight-portable-wooden-case-ideal-travel-activity-for-children/), containing animal shapes, flowers and even Christmas-themed shapes.

He uses the Christmas-themed stencils to add a few Christmas trees, a shooting star and a wrapped present to Natasha’s Christmas card. Steve helps him position the card so he’s not punching through the writing or any part of the carefully decorated tree and presents that’s already on the card.

When it’s done, he flips it over and he can feel the little pinhole drawings sitting underneath where Steve reassures him his ‘Love, Bucky’ writing is sitting.

“I think it makes it feel even more awesome, right?”

Steve agrees.

The only sad part is that Bucky can’t add this new art to Steve’s own card, since it wouldn’t be a surprise any longer if Steve helped him with it, but he doesn’t trust that he’ll be able to place the pinholes in the right places without assistance.

Next year he’ll have to plan Steve’s present better.

He figures out pretty quickly that he can produce different sized holes—which result in different raised edge heights for the holes—if he varies the depth of his poking. It’s very hard to accurately judge how deep he needs to poke and it’s impossible to be consistent unless he’s pushing the tack completely through the paper.

Steve solves the problem by gluing little beads onto the needlepoints, which stop the penetration of the tip at certain depths. That works beautifully. He has a set of different tacks, all of which have different beads attached. With practice, he can determine from the size of the bead which thumbtack he needs if he wants to make a certain sized-hole.

He also discovers that holding the tiny thumbtack isn’t as easy as he thought it would be. His fingers start cramping up after a while and he has to take a break and stretch out his fingers.

But then Bucky encounters another problem. While he’s sitting on the couch, working on a project, it’s difficult to reach over into his box of stencils and find the one he wants without dropping the thumbtack. Usually he leaves it shoved into the paper, but it happens frequently that he knocks it loose and has to spend several minutes trying to find the tiny thumbtack.

Usually he finds it when it pricks his hand.

The third time that happens, he finally lets out an annoyed curse, and that’s when he asks Steve if he could attach the thumbtacks to something big so Bucky can keep track of it easier.

Because Steve is a genius, he goes a step further. He cuts the tips off of several pencils and glues the thumbtack to the flat tip of the pencils.

It works wonderfully. Bucky can hold the pencil easily, his fingers no longer cramp up, and he can put down the pencil wherever he wants without losing the thumbtack. Steve gets him a little pencil case where he can keep his different ‘pokers’.

Steve asks him if Bucky wants him to make him templates to use for his pinhole art, but Bucky likes that this is an art form which he doesn’t need Steve’s help with.

“No, I’m okay. I like using the stencils, and when I get more comfortable, I can start free-handing my own things.”

*             *             *

Since the pool, Garland’s Groceries and many other places they frequent are within walking distance, they make sure they practice taking the subway every few days. Their main goal is still to get to the beach, but the smaller goals are to make Bucky more comfortable with the many steps that make up a subway journey.

Bucky’s getting familiar with the route which they walk to the get to the station. He knows how many streets they cross and how many corners they turn. If somebody asked him, he still wouldn’t be able to give anybody directions from their apartment to the station, but it’s nice being able to vaguely keep track of where he’s going.

“I’m still following you blindly, but not that blindly!” He’d remarked to Steve one day. Despite the joke being a bit of a groaner, Steve thought it was funny.

Today, they decide they will ride the R train for a few stops, get off, switch to the other side of the platform and come back. Once they’re back, they’ll take the Borough Hall station exit instead of their usual one, which will brings them up a few blocks over from where they usually surface.

They’re going to visit the NY Transit Museum.

When Steve had told him that the city had converted that stupid controversial new Court Street station into a museum, he’d felt vindicated.

Everybody in the neighborhood had known that building a new station so close to the original Court Street station would be a waste. Sure, their neighborhood was bustling, but everybody was pretty satisfied with the stations they already had. But of course, the subway companies never listened to anybody except themselves.

In 1936, the new station was officially opened, within a few blocks of the old Court Street Station. As a form of protest, Steve and Bucky always made sure to use the old station and they never stopped foot into the new one. He, Steve and Mrs. R had felt personally offended by the stupid decision to build the station. Sure, government money hadn’t been used to build it, but it was the fact that the subway companies so blatantly ignored what the public told them that annoyed all of them.

In 1940 when the government purchased all of the subway lines from the companies, the situation stung even more. Now government money was being used to service that stupid station that nobody needed or used. Steve and Bucky had always been glad that Mrs. R had died 3 years earlier and hadn’t lived to see such waste.

So Bucky had laughed long and hard when Steve had told him that the new station had been shut down in 1946 due to low usage.

He’d crowed about it for days. “I told you! I told you those stupid company schmucks didn’t know anything! Mrs. R, do you hear this? We told them! Didn’t we tell them?”

Steve had let him glow with vindication for a few days, until he’d asked if Bucky wanted to know the rest of the story. “There’s more? Don’t tell me they made a new one a block over and abandoned that one too?”

No, nothing that dramatic. Apparently, the station had been left abandoned for decades, but in 1976, the city [turned it into a museum](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_York_Transit_Museum). And apparently it’s a real swell museum which definitely deserves a visit.

“We can do fact-checking for them, Stevie. We’ll read everything and then we’ll file official complaints to the city if they wrote a bunch of baloney.”

Despite the fact that it’s within walking distance, they decide to add a subway trip to the day’s adventure, which will give the whole day a ‘subway’ theme.

Once they reach their wonderful, useful-and-necessary-from-1919-to-eternity Court Street station steps, they make their way down and head straight for the turning rod things. They both stop and Steve pulls their plastic ticket cards out of his wallet and hands Bucky his card. Steve got them special cards that he can load using his computer, so they never have to stop at the machines any more.

One of the steps which Bucky has been working on is getting past the turnstiles by himself. Steve’s told him most stations—including their own—have station attendants sitting in their little booths and Bucky has the right to pay at the booth and go through the normal door that’s by the attendant, but he doesn’t want to do that.

“I’ve been getting in and out of these stations my entire life, Rogers. It ain’t that complicated. I can do it, I just need more practice.”

Steve had taught him that he has to hold his card in a certain way in order to swipe it through the machine correctly. The trouble is that Bucky can’t hear the reassuring beep from the machine if he swiped it right. He only knows if he did it correctly if the turnstiles start moving when he pushes on them. It’s happened a few times that he didn’t do it right, the turnstiles didn’t move and he had to push back against a crowd coming up behind him with multiple ‘Sorry, sorry, it didn’t swipe right’ until he’s back at the machine and can try again. He hates making silly mistakes like that—and he knows he’s being cursed out by his fellow New Yorkers whenever it happens—so he usually gets the card oriented in his hand first, then he goes to find the metal machine.

He has to hold the card so the little [cut-off corner on it is facing the ceiling and himself](https://www.new-york-city-travel-tips.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/metro-card-MPVNY.jpg) (not the turnstiles). He and Steve had been very pleased when they’d discovered the secret of the cut-off corner. Otherwise Bucky would have a much harder time knowing how to swipe the card himself.

Once he’s sure the card is oriented correctly, he uses the rest of his hand to find the machine and swipe the card through.

Keeping his card clutched in his hand and holding his arm close to him so his dangling cane doesn’t trip anybody, he pushes against the wall of metal rods, which start turning. He has to release them right away, or he’ll end up getting squished in the mechanism.

That had only happened once, but once was certainly enough.

He hadn’t released the rods, and he’d followed the rods in a half circle, when he’d slammed into another set of rods which definitely weren’t moving. The rods he’d been holding had been yanked out of his hand, and then the wall of rods behind him had caught up and squished him against the unmovable rods. He’d let out a panicked shout and the bars behind him had stopped moving. He’d waited for the rods to move back so he could get out—but nothing had happened for a few seconds.

Then he’d felt fingers reaching through the rods and squeezing his hand. He’d grabbed the mystery hand and found the leather bracelet on it. Feeling the familiar beads and notches on it had immediately calmed him, but not by much. Steve was right there and Steve wouldn’t let the turning rods crush him, but the shock and fear kept him frozen more than the rods did. After a few long minutes, Steve’s hand had disappeared and the wall of rods pushing into his back had disappeared. He cautiously stepped back and didn’t encounter any obstacles. Within seconds, he’d felt Steve’s arms around him.

That day, they’d leaned against the far wall for long minutes before they both stopped shaking long enough to get out of the station and go back home.

Steve had blamed himself for the mess, but Bucky had put a stop to that right away. “I’m the twit who didn’t let go of the rods. You’ve told me a thousand times and I got complacent and forgot. I know better than that. None of that’s your fault.”

They’d taken a few days break, but then Bucky had insisted on trying again. He’d learned his lesson: only push the rod long enough to get the wall moving, then let go of it. Walk straight, straight, straight.

He holds his hand and cane in front of him and waits until the rods in front of his face have disappeared. That’s his cue to move forward and keep moving until he reaches the far wall. There might be people in his way, so he says ‘Excuse me, excuse me, excuse me’ from the time he enters the gate until he reaches the wall. If the cane and the ‘excuse me’ don’t give people enough of a hint that they need to be skirting around him, not the other way around, Bucky can’t help them any further. He often bumps into people, but he keeps his feet firmly planted on the floor so he doesn’t get turned around. He’ll spare a ‘sorry, sorry’, and then he’ll resume his journey to the wall.

Steve usually catches up to him right after he’s reached the wall, they put their cards back into Steve’s wallet and head down the tunnel to the platform.

Thankfully, Steve had figured out that there’s a set of emergency doors which a lot of people use to get out of the stations instead of the turnstiles. So that saves them from having to deal with the stupid things on their way out. Bucky thinks it’s good enough that he practices using them on the way in, and he can take it easy on the way out. And a lot of stations have the low turnstiles which Bucky is more accustomed to.

But after doing it a dozen times, Bucky’s starting to feel more comfortable with the whole routine. In fact, he’s starting to feel more comfortable navigating through crowds without having Steve by his side every second. He no longer gets so freaked out if strange people bump into him, or if his cane tells him he’s encountered an unexpected obstacle. Those things are just new parts of his reality.

They always wait for their train by the same pillar. They’d figured out there’s a set of train doors that always open right there. They stick close to the pillar, squished together so the crowds departing the train don’t separate them. When Steve indicates that their train is here, Bucky walks straight from the pillar to the train. He focuses completely on what his cane is telling him. Once the cane dips slightly, Bucky knows that’s the gap. He lifts the cane up a bit and brings it down inside the train. His feet step over the gap, and they’re inside.

He always gets to sit in the priority seating, which is very nice.

He can sit down, put away his cane, take off his glove and get used to the motion of the train and not bother anybody else. Sometimes the seat next to him is empty and Steve can sit down, or Steve stands right in front of him. As long as Bucky can feel Steve somewhere close by, everything’s okay.

Once he’s settled on his seat and he’s no longer focusing so hard on what he’s doing, he registers the smell.

“Steve, I can definitely tell it’s winter. You wanna know how I know?”

Steve asks him if the snow outside gave him a clue. Rolling his eyes, Bucky smacks his shoulder. “No, you wisecracker. I mean the smell. The subway stench is always worse in the winter, ain’t it?”

He reaches up and finds Steve’s face. He’s laughing. “Yeah, I haven’t missed that smell. You’d think in 70 years they’d have figure out how to make it better, but wet clothes plus garbage will always smell the same.”

Steve tells him part of the smell is probably from the decay of the old station and the old subway cars, not the actual people on the train.

“Whatever it is, it’s kinda reassuring that it always stinks on the train.” He hasn’t missed that stench, but it is kind of funny. “Anyway, do you see any [poems](http://web.mta.info/mta/aft/poetry/)?”

There’s a pause, then Steve’s taps his hand.

“Is it the one about the woman in the mirror?”

Rub. Steve says this one is about the history of the subway. That’s one they haven’t read before.

“Oh, well that’s appropriate today, ain’t it? You wanna read it to me?”

Slowly, Steve spells out the [poem](http://web.mta.info/mta/aft/poetry/poetry.html?year=2017&poem=17), line by line:

 **_Subway_ ** _(Billy Collins, b: 1941)_

_As you fly swiftly underground_

_with a song in your ears_

_or lost in the maze of a book,_

_remember the ones who descended here_

_into the mire of bedrock_

_to bore a hole through this granite_

_to clear a passage for you_

_where there was only darkness and stone._

_Remember as you come up into the light._

“Oh, I like that one! You remember my pa worked on the tunnel back in the day?

Tap, tap.

“I like that. He helped dig this tunnel, and now he’s in a poem on the subway train going through that tunnel, 70 years later.”

Tap. Steve tells him it’s real neat. And it’s a coincidence, given where they’re going today.

“No kidding.” He relaxes against his seat. “So now we’ve found both of the poems. You said we gotta wait until the new year for two new ones, right?”

Tap.

He asks Steve through tactile spelling if there’s anybody or anything interesting on the train which they can chat about non-verbally.

Tap, tap. Steve tells him a man dresses as a clown has just gotten on the train.

'Oh, I love New York! Tell me about him!' He spells out to Steve, who gleefully tells him the clown's make-up is smudged so it looks like he's eternally surprised. It's even funnier because the man isn't surprised: he's on the phone with his wife, angrily complaining that his boss had given him the wrong address for the birthday party he was supposed to work.

Eventually the clown gets off the train, and Steve asks him if he’s ready to head back.

“Yeah, we’ve done enough practicing and eavesdropping on our fellow New Yorkers for one day,” Bucky says.

They get off, cross to the other side of the platform and catch a train going back to their usual stop, but they’ll be going up via Broughton Hall station instead of Court Street station.

It’s time to visit the transit museum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every word of the NY transit museum’s history is true, which makes it a story that’s made for Captain America fics. I love it when history gives us more creative connections to canon than we can ever hope to make up ourselves. If you missed the link in the chapter, the museum’s history is described [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_York_Transit_Museum).
> 
> Next week: Museum time! Don’t worry – Steve will pay everybody’s admission fees.


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re all going on a trip to the NY Transit Museum where the boys’ pasts, presents and futures will collide! There are lots of embedded links in this chapter so you can experience the museum right alongside Steve and Bucky. A huge thank-you to [Noksoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/noksoo/pseuds/noksoo) who suggested having the boys visit the NY Transit Museum!

Once they’re at Borough Hall station, they climb up to the street and walk the short distance to the old, abandoned station which is now housing the transit museum.

After having been reminded of his pa with that poem on the train, the first part Bucky wants to explore is the section describing the digging of the first set of subway tunnels. The exhibit is full of photographs and old hand-tools which were used for digging. Steve slowly guides him through, letting Bucky touch different things and interpreting the photograph captions for him.

They touch the [photographs](https://s3-media2.fl.yelpcdn.com/bphoto/-DhngUQLtogEFFOuavHzGw/o.jpg) which show the men and boys who had worked on digging the subway tunnels in the early 1900s and Steve describes what the photos are showing. The workers are covered in dirt, their clothes are filthy and none of them look impressed that the photographers are taking pictures of them. They’re chipping away at the blasted apart rock and dirt with pick axes and jack hammers. Young boys are filling buckets with the loose dirt and dumping them into wheelbarrows to join large rocks, which are taken away when full. It was dirty and very dangerous work. Tunnel collapses could happen at any time, and small cave-ins were common. It didn’t help that everybody wanted the work finished as soon as possible so they could put the street back to order.

Steve and Bucky had been too young to witness most of the work, but they’d heard stories of [streets being torn open](https://s3-media1.fl.yelpcdn.com/bphoto/PdZqcZ3GldvugLvLEy-Bsg/o.jpg), men working in the enormous trenches day and night, while cars rattled along the small parts of the street which remained, and store owners on either side [stubbornly keeping their shops](https://s3-media2.fl.yelpcdn.com/bphoto/3a6r1G-_sj4lXI0zifs92A/o.jpg) open despite the complex scaffolding which shoppers had to navigate to reach them.

Bucky’s pa had been one of those laborers.

“That—that’s what my pa did for a while. He hated it. The pay was shit, you remember?”

Tap.

Hearing that his pa’s hard work has been immortalized in these photographs and captions makes Bucky feel really good. It’s nice that a hundred years later, people have the chance to learn about their own city’s history.

“Hey, my pa ain’t in any of the pictures, is he?”

Rub, rub.

No, that would have been too much of a coincidence.

Steve brings him over to some [wheelbarrows filled with rocks](https://photos.google.com/share/AF1QipOH6OHRRRAIUwKj2x56HVrfcYcuCYoyCvhSZF94a2LObiM4WjC1wZuwPiD571hUmw/photo/AF1QipNMKLsfHVViA1FqKsEOtgred7cIlEbAGLOqK3Pd?key=Tk1EMDdhRlRaS3U3ZmthS2JRSE8tZmdGT2VOeHNB) that he can touch. He gently rubs the jagged rocks and traces the edge of the rough, metal wheelbarrow.

It all makes him emotional. It’s stupid—these aren’t the rocks his pa had dug out of the ground, but Bucky doesn’t often think about his pa so this getting to him.

He feels Steve squeeze his hand and then his fingers are touching Bucky’s cheeks. He must see some of the emotion on his face.

“I—I miss my pa,” he whispers.

Steve pulls him into his arms and rubs his back. He feels Steve’s lips pressed against his temple and his lips are moving, saying comforting things.

“It’s silly, I know.”

Steve smacks him lightly on the butt and jostles him a bit. He doesn’t agree.

“It’s—it’s real nice that he’s part of history thought, ain’t it? Everybody in New York can come here and read about what he did.”

Steve pulls back and takes his hand so he can spell. He tells him he’s damn proud to have known one of the men who built these tunnels, which have always been such a huge part of their lives. He asks him if he wants to know what the museum [has written](https://s3-media1.fl.yelpcdn.com/bphoto/Le9TLHOeKolAxkwXodQVUg/o.jpg) about his pa and the other workers.

“They wrote something about them? Is it nice?”

Tap, tap, tap.

“What does it say?”

_‘A job in subway construction was hard, backbreaking work. Danger was constant. Despite using the best equipment of the time, progress most often depended on a man with a shovel. The subway system was hailed as an engineering marvel; the achievement of these workers is equally extraordinary.’_

That makes Bucky smile. “Oh, that’s swell, ain’t it? What a nice thing for them to say! And everybody can read that?”

Tap, tap. Steve tells him the display with the words is nice and big and right on the wall so everybody will read it when they’re walking through this exhibit.

His smile gets even bigger. “I like that. I really like that. Pa’s a part of New York forever. He’d be real pleased about that.”

Steve taps his hand and pulls him close for a hug. Bucky sticks his nose into Steve’s neck and relaxes.

Eventually, Steve asks him if he wants to head home. “What? Home? No, I’m okay. We ain’t even started yet. This exhibit only goes up to 1925. We’ve got nearly a hundred years to go! Come on, Rogers. Let’s go to the next part.”

He still feels a bit weird and vulnerable, but he gamely follows along as Steve guides him to the next exhibit.

After some walking, Steve tells him to pay close attention. He’s about to encounter some turnstiles.

“Oh. Are they the full wall ones or the low ones?”

Steve tells him to touch them and find out. Bucky’s about to point out that it’s a stupid risk to take—he shouldn’t be grabbing turnstiles without a clear idea of what they’re like. Turnstiles are dangerous and he could seriously—

—and then Steve puts his hand on a flat piece of wood that moves horizontally, and Bucky immediately feels yanked back through time and he knows why Steve kept it a surprise.

He knows what this is. He knows _exactly_ what this is!

“Oh, my God! It’s [our turnstiles](https://photos.google.com/share/AF1QipOH6OHRRRAIUwKj2x56HVrfcYcuCYoyCvhSZF94a2LObiM4WjC1wZuwPiD571hUmw/photo/AF1QipNGMfsX5RAzz61d-vfhzq5yeweBIUmcykLNovAF?key=Tk1EMDdhRlRaS3U3ZmthS2JRSE8tZmdGT2VOeHNB)! Stevie, they’re our turnstiles!!”

For a split second, he forgets when he is. Not _where_ —that’s never really changed, but _when_. He must have touched these turnstiles hundreds of times: shoving his precious nickel into the coin slot and pushing through the spinning wooden turnstiles, excited about taking the train somewhere.

He also remembers jumping over them when they didn’t have enough money to pay for a ride—but it’s better not to reminisce about that out-loud. “Oh, this is fantastic! Do you see them, Steve?”

He feels Steve wrap his arms around him and he’s happily tapping Bucky’s stomach, pressing a smile against his face. “Ain’t this just crazy that they’ve still got these things?”

Steve picks up his hand, taps it and tells him they’ve got lots of other turnstiles too.

“There’s more?!”

They have a whole exhibit full of different turnstiles from the different decades. All the turnstiles are out in the open and Bucky can touch all of them. It’s neat feeling the flat wooden bars he’d known his entire life eventually changing into the [round metallic rods](https://s3-media4.fl.yelpcdn.com/bphoto/ASRGBKt3VqN3F1rdCAqhLA/o.jpg) that rotate vertically instead of horizontally, a change which apparently happened shortly after the war ended. What’s even neater is when he recognizes the [full-wall turnstiles](https://s3-media1.fl.yelpcdn.com/bphoto/qSIXzaSWaLh4qd-QQY99lg/o.jpg) that’s on display, and he correctly identifies the MetroCard swiping device attached to it.

When Steve happily taps his hand to tell him he’s right, Bucky smirks in his direction. “Of course I’m right. I know my turnstiles, Rogers. Please. How long have I been living in this city, huh?”

Then he feels a shoe lightly kicking him in the butt and he bursts out laughing. He reaches behind him, finds Steve’s jacket and punches him in the shoulder. “Punk! You’re just jealous cause I’m smart.”

‘In your dreams’, Steve tells him, then he asks him if he’s okay stopping for a second because some kids have come up to him and are asking for autographs and pictures.

“Okay, take your time.” He wanders back down the row of turnstiles, moving from one to the other until he’s back to their familiar wooden, horizontal turnstiles. He can’t help smiling as he spins the familiar bar. “I can’t believe they still have these. Jesus.”

He’s so grateful that people have taken the time to save these precious artifacts as time marched on so the future could learn about them and enjoy them.

Or so two Brooklyn boys who were frozen for decades can touch a little piece of their youths. This isn’t just preserving New York’s history, but the museum is preserving Bucky and Steve’s histories, and that means a lot to him.

When Steve comes back, he asks if he wants to pose for some pictures for Nat and Sam.

Sometimes it still takes him off guard when he’s reminded that Steve can take pictures using his phone. He’s used to Steve carrying his phone around by now, and he knows he can use it like a computer to find information, but he often forgets it can take pictures too. Considering he’d only taken three photos in his entire life prior to Steve bringing him home—two family portraits and his military photo—it’s still amazing to him that they can take pictures whenever and wherever they want. It doesn’t cost a month’s worth of wages to get a single photo done. In fact, Steve can take as many pictures as he wants and it doesn’t cost extra.

“Okay, where do you want me?”

According to Steve, it’s his choice, so Bucky choses their old wooden turnstiles. “You got a nickel? Gimme a nickel.”

Steve tells him he can’t actually drop a nickel into the coin slot. It might break the—

Bucky sighs and pulls his hand away. “Jesus, Rogers, I know that. I ain’t gonna actually put it in. I just wanna give the picture a more authentic feel. Gimme a nickel.”

When the coin is pressed into his hand, he stands by the turnstile, the nickel right by the slot and his body turned to Steve. “Come move me if I ain’t standing right.”

Steve nudges him over a bit and once he’s happy, he tells Bucky to stay still. He puts a nice smile on his face and stares straight ahead. It’s Steve’s job to move the camera around until he finds the best angle. It’s Bucky’s job to stay frozen until Steve gives him a tap on the hip, signalling that the photo is good.

They take a couple of pictures with Bucky demonstrating different turnstiles and then Steve tells him they’re going to move down a set of stairs to the actual station platform to see some trains.

“What? What do you mean ‘see some trains’? This station’s not active no more.”

Steve squeezes his hand. He’s trembling. Hopefully from excitement. He tells Bucky the city never filled in the subway tunnels leading to the station, so they can bring trains in and out of the station whenever they want. Some train cars permanently stay at the platform, and others are moved in and out for special exhibitions.

Whenever Bucky climbs down stairs, he always pushed all other thoughts out of his head. He has to completely focus on each stair so he gets down in one piece.

Because he’s focusing on the stairs, he doesn’t have time to think about where he’s actually going until he’s standing on the platform and taking out his cane. It’s colder down here, as it always is when they’re this far below the ground, and it smells a lot nicer than a subway station usually does.

And that’s when it hits him.

“Steve?”

Tap.

“Do you realize where we’re standing?”

Steve squeezes his hand. He brings Bucky’s up to his face and Bucky can feel his lips are pressed together, the corners curled up.

“We’re actually standing on the useless platform. The useless platform of the useless station which we’ve avoided for 70 fucking years, and here we are.”

Steve moves Bucky’s hand and presses it against his lips so he can feel him laughing.

“This ain’t a laughing matter. Your ma would be ashamed of us, Rogers.” But he’s struggling not to laugh as he says it. “Jesus Christ. And we paid to get into the museum, so technically we paid to come on this stupid platform. Oh, those subway company big-wigs must be laughing. They got us, Steve. It took ‘em 70 years, but they got us.”

Steve’s still laughing, which finally makes Bucky break and he has a laugh about it too. He can’t believe he’s standing here.

They [wander down the platform](https://s3-media3.fl.yelpcdn.com/bphoto/IYlq8D48w8xcAa9lLXTk1w/o.jpg) for a while, Steve stopping them to let him feel interesting things. The old ‘Court Street’ signs are still there, as are the old wooden benches which they used to sit on. Well, Steve used to sit on them. Bucky used to stay standing and yell at people who wanted Steve to give up his seat for old people.

“So which cars are we gonna go see first?”

He doubts he’s going to be able to pick out the differences between the cars. They probably have a few cars from the 60s and 70s, and while he has no idea how much they’ve truly changed, they can’t be so different.

Steve guides him to one of the subway cars and tells him the door is right in front of him, but there’s a step, so he has to be careful.

“A step? Who the hell puts a step on a subway car? Idiots. When did they start putting steps into the cars?” It must have been recently and the reason the car’s in the museum and not out working is because people made a fuss about the step being stupid, which it is.

He finds the step with his cane and carefully steps into the open train car and sweeps around with his cane. He smacks into one pole right away, which is pretty normal, and he carefully moves to his left, finding the bank of seats with the cane.

Once his toes are up against the seat edge, he bends over to touch the surface of the seat. After nearly sitting on somebody’s gross lunch that had been left behind, he always does quick check before sitting down. He brushes the back of his hand over the seat, expecting to feel the cool, smooth plastic…

…but that’s not what he feels.

[He feels fabric](https://s3-media2.fl.yelpcdn.com/bphoto/p0Ou0zGPbYqostF9g6TrDQ/o.jpg).

The fabric is a rough weave and there’s enough padding underneath to make it squishy.

Oh, my God.

He knows this fabric.

He _knows_ this fabric!

“Steve—Steve—are these—” Intense emotion wells up in his chest and he feels tears gathering in his eyes. It all sneaks up on him really quick.

Steve pulls his cane out of his grasp, squeezes his hand and taps it.

Yes. Yes, these are their cars.

 _Their_ train cars.

“I—I can’t believe they made something like this. The details are just—Steve, the fabric is—” He runs his hand over the fabric, rubbing the coarse fibers and pressing into the padding.

Steve rubs his hand. He wraps an arm around Bucky’s waist and helps him sit down. It’s a good thing, because the next sentences which Steve spells might have made him fall over.

This train car isn’t a replica. It’s not an imitation that the museum created. It’s an actual, authentic train car.

The bare bones of it are from 1908, and it was re-built in 1938 to become motorized. It was renovated again in 1939 for—

“For the World Fair. I remember. They painted them that horrible [blue and orange](https://s3-media2.fl.yelpcdn.com/bphoto/Xss9jycwHF2adMlcLa0E6A/o.jpg), didn’t they? Is it still awful looking?”

Tap. It rattled along the subway tracks in its blue and orange glory until it was retired in 1969. It sat in a MTA yard until 1976 when the museum was opened and the train car was selected to be part of the museum’s permanent vintage cars exhibit. It was driven along the same tracks it had served for 60 years until it reached its final destination at the museum.

“Oh, my God. Do you—do you realize we could have sat in this very car? We could have sat in it a hundred times?”

Tap, tap. Squeeze.

He feels Steve press his forehead against the side of his head. Steve wraps an arm around him and pulls him close. Bucky untangles their hands and touches the fabric of the seats again. Just sitting on the familiar padded seats brings him back to their youth.

“Has there always been that stupid step there? I don’t remember that.”

Tap.

Huh. They both must have jumped over it without a thought when they were younger. “Wow. This is unbelievable. Can I explore?”

Tap.

“Is there anyone else in here?”

Rub.

Bucky puts his cane on the seat and kneels up on the padding, touching the glass windows and the wooden window frames. Oh, how he misses things being made out of wood! Steve always makes a lot of their games out of wood, but Bucky had been sad to discover that most things these days are made out of plastic or metal.

Sure, they last longer, but they feel so cold and impersonal. With the wood, he can feel the work somebody put into it.

As he remembers more about how their old cars used to look like, he remembers there’s another big thing that makes them different from today’s cars.

He pushes himself off the seat and reaches up, searching for the porcelain hand-holds which he knows will be there. He eventually knocks his hand into one and curls his fingers around it.

“Look at this! They kept our old hand-holds! Ain’t this neat? They’re so much better than just having the bars and the poles.”

Steve probably isn’t that impressed with the hand-holds. They’d always been too high for him to reach comfortably. His back would start aching if he held on for too long. Usually he’d hold on to Bucky, or if he was really not feeling well or in pain, Bucky would charm or bully somebody off their seat so Steve could sit down. These days, their roles have reversed. Since Steve is the one standing on the trains, he’s told Bucky that the hand-holds have been replaced by vertical and horizontal bars.

Using the hand-holds as a guide, Bucky moves down the train car from one to the next, stopping occasionally to touch the padded seats.

He’s walking the same train car he probably rode in a hundred times. He’s literally re-tracing his footsteps seventy years later.

Eventually, he makes his way back to Steve. It’s a bit of a guessing game where the punk is sitting, but when Bucky pulls out his cane to search, he ends up smacking the cane into what he thinks are Steve’s—and hopefully not a stranger’s—shoes.

“Rogers? Is that you? Or should I be apologizing for assaulting a stranger?”

A hand touches his and the leather bracelet is rubbed against the back of his hand. “Oh, good.”

He folds up his cane and carefully finds where Steve and the seats are before he sits, leaning against Steve.

That’s when he feels Steve is tense and trembling. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He turns sideways and follows Steve’s arm up to his face.

Steve’s crying. “Oh, Stevie. What’s wrong? Is it too much, being here? Should we go?”

When there’s no answer forthcoming, Bucky gently pulls Steve against his chest and lets him cry, rubbing his back and kissing his temple.

Finally, Steve manages to spell out ‘I miss’ and ‘I want to go back’, before he’s dissolving into a pile of shakes again and burying his face in Bucky’s chest.

Bucky’s heart aches. He knows exactly what Steve’s talking about. He’s full of emotions too, sitting in this train car. They’re in the 30s, but they’re not.

Everybody else who used to ride this train car is long dead, or like Becca, have mentally left the world long ago.

He and Steve are relics just like this subway car. Out of time and out of place…

His throat is tight. “I miss it too, sweetheart. I miss it so damn much and I always will. I wish we could go back, but we can’t. We’re like this car, ain’t we? Frozen in time.”

The second he says it, he frowns.

He—he doesn’t like that.

It’s not really true, is it? At least, it ain’t true anymore.

They’re not so badly out of place anymore. They’re fitting into the 21st century more and more every day. This train car is frozen in time, but they aren’t.

He has to make Steve see that, because if they keep dwelling on the sadness that’s squeezing their hearts, they’ll both be crying messes and they’ll never get out of his subway car. He blinks back the tears which have gathered in his eyes and swallows hard.

Steve’s face is shaking and there are fresh tears running down his cheeks. Bucky wipes them away and presses his forehead against Steve’s. “I miss our old lives too. But we can’t get stuck there, you hear me? We can’t be like this train car, frozen in time. We’re moving forward, into the future. We can bring the past with us, but we can’t get stuck there. It’ll be okay, Stevie, I promise. We’re doing so well. So well. Your ma would be so proud of us.”

Moments later, Steve pulls his face away from Bucky’s hand and buries his head in Bucky’s good shoulder. Bucky runs his fingers through Steve’s hair and tells him over and over again that they’ll be alright. They’ve been doing alright. And they’re gonna keep doing alright.

Eventually, the tears stop and Steve gradually calms. He pulls back and rummages around in his backpack, probably pulling out tissues. Bucky finds his hand and pulls the tissue out his hands so he can gently wipe Steve’s face for him. “You ready to head home?”

It takes Steve a few seconds to respond. When he starts spelling, he asks Bucky if he wants to explore the other train cars.

“There’s more?”

Tap. There are lots more.

“I only wanna do it if you’re in the mood for it. We can always come back.”

Rub. Steve can do it. But he wants to take a selfie of them in their train car first.

Bucky’s impressed with himself when he remembers what a ‘selfie’ is right away. He’s been working very hard to catch up with a lot of the new technology-related terms Steve uses everyday and he’s getting much better at it.

“Alright, let’s do it.” He sits up straight and waits until Steve taps his thigh, which is his signal to press his head against Steve’s and stare straight ahead. “I’m looking straight. You tell me when we’re done.”

He stays completely still and keeps a smile on his face. He can feel Steve shift from time to time, probably adjusting his grip on the phone and different settings, but he stays still.

Finally, Steve taps his thigh. “It’s a good one?”

Tap, tap.

They make their way out of the car and Bucky stops to touch the outside of the car. Now that he knows what he’s looking at, he appreciates the wooden walls even more. “I can’t believe they kept this.”

Steve curls his hand around Bucky’s upper arm to guide him to the next car, but Bucky realizes they’ve forgotten something important. “Hang on, I wanna take a picture of you. We did a whole bunch of me on the turnstiles and we did that one together, but we didn’t do any of you yet. Nat’s gonna complain again.” He pats the wooden train wall. “You wanna pose against our train car?”

Tapping Bucky’s hand, Steve guides him away from the wall. He turns Bucky to face the subway car and then disappears. He’s probably fussing with his phone.

Bucky holds out his hand, patiently waiting. Eventually he feels the slim, slippery phone being put into his hand and Steve wraps one arm around him, his chest resting on Bucky’s shoulder so he can see what the camera is aimed at. Bucky carefully keeps his index finger off the phone, using his other fingers to hold the phone. He’s had plenty of practice at this by now. Steve twists the phone and adjusts Bucky’s grip on it until he’s happy. He shifts Bucky’s arm, nudging it in different directions while he looks at the phone’s display and gets it lined up correctly.

Finally, Steve releases his hand and carefully moves Bucky’s finger to hover over the ‘picture-taking’ button.

Then Steve disappears.

That’s his cue to start counting. Unless Steve tells him he needs a longer count-down, the usual is 10 seconds. “Alright. Here we go. Ten, nine, eight…” He slowly counts down, giving Steve time to get into position. He keeps himself completely still, his hand staying frozen. After reaching one, he firmly presses his index finger against the phone, feeling the cool surface of the phone display.

Nothing actually happens.

That’s been something he’s had difficulty getting used to. He has no idea if he tapped the button, if he missed it completely or if he tapped it hard enough to actually take a picture. When they’d first started practicing, Bucky would focus so much on his finger that his hand and arm would slowly shift, which completely destroyed the careful framing Steve had set up. After months of doing more arm exercises and working on his arm strength and grip strength, he’s much better at keeping the phone absolutely still while tapping the invisible button with his finger.

He taps it a few more times, just in case. “I did it. Come see.” He drops his arm but carefully keeps a tight grip on the phone until he feels Steve touch his arm and tug it out of his hand to check the photos.

When Steve happily squeezes Bucky’s hand, he knows he did a good job. He grins, pleased with himself. Look at him! A blind man taking a picture of somebody with a phone that has no buttons on it. “Yay! Make sure you send that one to Nat and Sam!”

Tap, tap. Steve tells him he already sent them the photos of Bucky at the turnstiles. “Don’t forget to send our selfie too!”

Tap, tap.

“Alright, when you finished sending the photos, let’s move along in time.”

They move from car to car, going in chronological order and Steve points out when there’s something neat about the car that Bucky should touch. He feels when the outside of the trains changed from being wooden hulls to thick steel frames, and when the fabric seat covers were replaced by leather and eventually taken away completely to leave behind the hard plastic seats he’s become familiar with.

After the last car, Steve hesitantly asks him if he wants to learn about the future of the subway.

“Huh?”

They’ve reminisced about the past, they know about the subway’s present, but the museum has an exhibit about the newest subway line being built. Does Bucky want to go see it?

“You know what? Yeah, I do. But only if you want to. But I think it’s important. We’re part of the subway’s history, its present and we’re gonna be part of its future.”

It’s a positive sign when Steve tells him he’d like to visit the exhibit. After another pause, he acknowledges that Bucky’s right. Maybe part of why his depression has been so bad in recent years is because he’s been focusing too much on the past. He’s been working harder at living in the present, but to truly be part of New York, he needs to pay attention to New York’s future too.

Bucky smiles. “Yeah, you do. It’s what we did all the time back in 30s, right? If you wanna feel like you’re part of society, you gotta be participating in its past, present and its future. Come on, lead the way to the future.”

The exhibit doesn’t have anything which Bucky can touch, but they move from one display to the next and Steve tells him what they say.

They know the beginning of the story. They’d heard rumors of the [Second Avenue Subway line](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Second_Avenue_Subway) being planned in Manhattan with an eventual connection under the river to Brooklyn since they were born.

“Then everybody stopped talking about it, didn’t they? It just fizzled. Was it the Depression?”

Tap. And the war.

“So when did the line actually get built?”

It hasn’t. A small portion of it is set to open in January 2017.

Bucky blinks. “What’s the date right now?”

November 2016. Which means in two months, the small portion of the line will open.

“So…it took them almost a hundred years to get a small part of it done?!”

Tap.

Bucky can’t help it. He bursts out laughing and feels for Steve’s face. Steve’s shaking and his lips are curled into a big smile. He’s laughing too.

Once he’s calmed down, Bucky realizes that the timing of their visit to the museum is really swell. “You know what I wanna do once we get better at doing train transfers?”

Take the Q line to Manhattan and ride it along the new portion?

“Absolutely. You know I only tolerate going to Manhattan for very special occasions, but riding a brand new section of the subway is a very special occasion. But going to the beach is a higher priority.”

He bumps Steve’s shoulder and grins in his direction. “Ain’t this neat, Stevie? We get to be part of New York’s future!”

Tap, tap.

Before they go, they decide to swing through the gift shop. Bucky carefully keeps his hands to himself until he gets permission to touch various things. There are clothing items, wooden train cars, metal key chains, jewelry and a bunch of old subway signs.

The subway cars are nice, but they don’t have any of models of their old train car, and they’re either way too expensive or they’re made from unremarkable smooth plastic or wood. Unfortunately, most of the other items are one dimensional and there’s nothing on them that would allow Bucky to connect them with the subway museum. He doesn’t just want to get a random item, he wants something that will remind him of the museum whenever he touches it.

He’s about to give up hope when Steve gets excited, jostles his arm and shoves his hand into a pile of soft fluff. It takes a few minutes of exploring until he figures out he’s touching a [pile of teddy bears](https://s3-media1.fl.yelpcdn.com/bphoto/MpkrJxvM0OWD5jwW3z8heA/o.jpg). Each bear has a textured subway line letter or number on their chest. There’s a circle of rough fabric in the center of the bears chests’ with a smoother fabric inside the circle, forming the letter or number of a subway line. The different materials make it easy for Bucky to distinguish what letter or number is being represented.

“These are perfect! Let me find the right bear. You go find yourself something. I’ll be a bit.”

He figures out the bears are hanging off metal rods so he can rummage through them without knocking them to the floor. He explores one bear at a time, carefully touches the textured patch on its chest to determine what letter or number it is. He realizes quickly that the bears are grouped in batches so he doesn’t have to touch every single one. He moves methodically, touching every third bear and moving around the circular display. He’s on the second row from the top when he finally finds the right bear. He checks two other bears in that section to verify his findings, but it feels like it’s the right letter.

“Steve! Come check if this is the right one, please! I think it’s right but I want you to check.”

Somebody takes the bear out of his grasp and then the mystery person—hopefully Steve—tells him [the bear has the letter Q on it](http://www.nytransitmuseumstore.com/NYC-Subway-Beanie-Bear---Q-Train-Coney-Island-to-2nd-Av/4822727329224589552/Product).

Bucky smiles happily. “Excellent! That’s the one I wanted. You know why.”

Tap, tap.

Even though they haven’t yet managed to get on the Q—in the present day at least—the Q is their ultimate goal. Going to the beach, Coney Island, Prospect Park, and riding the new subway line in Manhattan are all connected to the Q. The line may not be the start of their favourite subway adventures, but it’s the biggest part of it.

“Steve, can we get this bear? It reminds me of Bucky Bear, plus it’ll be even more motivation to finally do the damn transfers so we can get to the beach and the other places.”

Steve squeezes his hand. He tells him of course, they can get the bear, but not to feel pressured about the transfers. They’ll get there when they get there.

“Yeah, yeah. Did you pick yourself out a present?”

Steve hands him a box, which feels like a normal box. Steve tells him they’re filled with round [Christmas ornaments](http://www.nytransitmuseumstore.com/Subway-Logo-Ornament/-8276754278630990096/Product). Each ball has a textured number and letter of a subway line.

“Oh, that’s neat! So I can touch ‘em? Are we actually gonna get a tree? I’ve always wanted one.”

Tap, tap. He tells Bucky they’ll unwrap them once they’re home and he can touch them as much as he wants. And yes, they’ll get a tree, but it’s November so it’s too early. They’ve lived without having a Christmas tree for nearly thirty years, they’ll survive another few weeks.

Then he tells Bucky to hang on a second, because he see something else that Bucky might like.

“Really? Well, hurry up and go get it!”

Steve disappears and a minute later, a hand is touching him. Bucky immediately feels for the bracelet, confirms it’s Steve, and then Steve is pressing something familiar into his hand. It’s a baseball cap, just like the one on his head.

“Oh, a new hat! Does it have anything written on it?”

He likes his Mets cap because the logo’s N and Y letters are made from textured thread that he can easily identify. Steve taps his hand and helps him feel a small circle of fabric right in the middle of the cap where a logo normally goes.

When he concentrates, he can just feel the faintest difference of textures between the main part of the circle and something inside of it. The difference isn’t as obvious as with his bear, but it’s there. And as he’s feeling it, he already knows what it is, even though he can’t really tell.

“It’s a Q, ain’t it? They’ve got hats with the different subway line numbers on ‘em, right?”

Tap, tap, tap.

Bucky grins. Now he gets to wear a hat either representing his (new) beloved baseball team, or his beloved subway. “What a great choice, Steve! Thanks! Can I wear it home?”

Tap, tap.

Bucky feels Steve pulling the Mets cap off his head, and then slides the new cap on. “It fits real well!”

They pay for their presents (Bucky has to take his new hat off so the cashier can scan it, but then it goes right back on his head) and then decide it’s time to head home.

“We’re definitely coming back!” Bucky tells the station attendant on their way out when Steve gives him the signal to say goodbye.

When they’re at home, cuddling on the couch with Q Bear, Bucky finds Steve’s lips and kisses him.

“What a fantastic day, huh? I can’t believe we saw our turnstiles and our train car!”

Steve tells him it was one of the best days he’s had since coming out of the ice.

“Even with the little bit of sadness in the middle?”

Tap. The grief for the past was part of what made the day such an awesome experience. He grieved for the past, felt more comfortable about the present and got excited about the future.

Bucky smiles and kisses him again. “I’m really proud of both of us. And thank you for doing such an awesome job interpreting.”

As he relaxes against Steve, he gently rubs his thumb over the textured letter on Q Bear. He’s more determined than ever to get back on the Q. The idea of blending his history with his present and future in Brooklyn is more exciting than ever.

He remembers for the hundredth time how happy he is that Steve had brought him home. He knows he could have learned to get comfortable in any other city in the world, but the fact that Steve had brought him back to Brooklyn where they can blend their past with their present and the future on a daily basis is such a wonderful gift.

He lifts up Q Bear and taps Steve on the chin with it. “Q Bear says thank you for bringing Bucky home to Brooklyn. He really, really loves being home.”

Steve squeezes him tightly. He takes Q Bear out of his hand and asks Q Bear to tell Bucky that Steve also really, really loves being home, especially being home with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the trip to the museum! The wonderful Noksoo actually visited the transit museum recently and she took some of the photos you saw in the chapter. [Here](https://photos.app.goo.gl/5QgCfwPnpomqBJUs2) you can see photos from her journey to the museum and walking through the museum (and seeing the exhibits the boys saw). [Here](https://photos.app.goo.gl/rLW6JowDtwC3phrG3) are some videos from her walk through the museum's exhibits and a short walk through Brooklyn Heights, and [here](https://photos.app.goo.gl/EUTmNgt2M5RlUiKF2) are some more pictures of Brooklyn Heights and Court Street Station as she walked from the museum into the station to take the subway home.


	46. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's TV-watching experience is about to become 100% better, plus - the boys make another attempt to get to the beach!
> 
> For the embedded video link in this chapter, you can skip to the 3 min mark to only watch the demonstration. If you want a better explanation, I recommend watching from the beginning until the demonstration is underway. It's a gadget many video gamers use, but it was completely unfamiliar to me, and the video provides a good explanation of what it does.

Because they’ve gotten so much better at communicating with the deafblind manual alphabet, Bucky asks Steve to expand their television viewing range.

Up to now, they’ve stuck to shows which follow a specific sequence of events and rely more on actions than dialog to move the plot along. Baseball games, competition shows or any of the house hunting or house renovation shows work well.

But Bucky wants to watch shows which are less predictable.

He doesn’t mention it to Steve, but having the words spelled out on his hand and having to understand the words makes it harder to feel the true excitement of what’s going on in a show. It would probably help if Bucky could hear some of the suspenseful music that’s added to the show, but of course, that’s not an option.

Steve has to carefully choose what to watch. It can’t be too complicated because that can turn into a confusing mess which neither of them enjoys. Steve has to let Bucky know which character is talking, and which character is doing what actions, so having too many characters interact at once can get complicated very quickly. A five second interaction on the screen can take Steve 20 minutes to interpret—and they might have all the time in the world to watch shows, but they don’t _want_ to spend all the time in the world watching shows.

Watching comedies works well, as long as the humor is mostly dialog based. Bucky finds that he doesn’t enjoy hearing about physical comedy when the actions are described on his hand. He’s missing the sound effects and the visuals that go along with it so it’s a bit dry just hearing the action being described through words being spelled out on his palm.

They’re big fans of serialized TV shows, or movies which have several sequels. It’s much easier to tell Bucky what’s going on when Bucky already knows the characters and they’ve established a lot of short-form phrases and abbreviations.

They’ve been making their way through ‘I Love Lucy’ episodes. They both love it because there aren’t too many characters, the plots are straight forward and the humor is easy for Bucky to understand. Plus, it’s from the 50s, so a lot of the themes and plot lines are familiar to them.

Today they’re watching a movie. It’s a pretty good movie, but unfortunately, there are a lot of fight scenes. The movie has to do with gladiators, and Bucky likes the different characters, but the fight scenes are boring. Steve does the best he can, but when all Bucky can get is—

_He lands a blow._

_He lands another blow._

_He misses, gets hit and falls down._

_He gets up._

_He lands a blow._

—it’s not highly entertaining. Bucky has no problem following the action, but he knows it must feel a thousand times more exciting if he could see or hear the action.

He keeps an interested smile on his face and pays careful attention to Steve’s interpreting because he knows how hard Steve works to let Bucky experience as much of the movie as possible.

He thinks he’s doing a pretty good job of hiding how he feels about.

A few days later, Steve makes a strange request. He asks Bucky to not touch the couch for a whole day.

“What? Why?”

Steve tells him he’s fixing something on the couch and he needs to flip it upside down.

Bucky hadn’t felt anything wrong with the couch, but maybe Steve can see a problem which Bucky can’t, so he does as requested and doesn’t touch the couch.

The day after, Steve’s hand is trembling when he asks Bucky if he wants to watch a movie before breakfast.

“What? Before breakfast? Are you okay? You’re shaking.” He touches Steve’s arms and his face, and when he feels the huge grin on Steve’s face, he realizes Steve’s really excited about something. “Okay, we can watch a movie. Are we gonna have breakfast later, or…?”

Steve pulls him towards the couch and shoves Bucky down. Bucky shifts around a bit and feels the couch cushions around him. It feels the same as it always has. He has no idea what work Steve had to do to it yesterday.

He waits patiently while Steve gets the movie set up. When Steve picks up Bucky’s hand, he’s ready for Steve to tell him the name of the movie and a short summary about the characters and the plot.

But instead, Steve tells him not to be scared.

This morning is full of confusion. “What do you mean, ‘don’t be scared’? I ain’t ever gonna be a scared of a movie again, punk. Not when I can’t see or hear nothing. You’re too big a softie to spell things in a way that’ll scare me. I ain’t worried.”

Steve gives his hand a firm shake and again tells him not to be scared. He pauses between each word for emphasis.

Bucky sighs softly. “Okay, I promise. I won’t be scared. I don’t know what the hell—”

And that’s when the entire apartment starts shaking.

It starts as a slight tremor and quickly builds until the couch is shaking. Bucky’s heart leaps into his throat—are they having an earthquake? Was there an explosion? Do they need to get out??

But Steve is still holding his hand, gently rubbing the back of his hand with his thumb. Steve seems completely relaxed.

“Wh—Steve, what the hell’s going on?! Can’t you feel that?!”

Abruptly, the shaking stops.

Bucky freezes, his heart hammering in his chest. “Did—I think it stopped. Did you feel that too?”

Steve is tapping his hand, trembling slightly, and when Bucky checks, the punk is still smiling. Only the smile is bigger now.

Bucky narrows his eyes. “Are you playing some trick on me? What the hell are you doing, punk? That ain’t funny! I thought the building was collapsing.”

Steve immediately starts apologizing, probably feeling bad for scaring him. Bucky brushes that off. “Forget that, punk. I wanna know what that was. You weren’t scared so it must have been something nifty.”

Steve asks him if Bucky wants him to explain, or if he wants to figure it out himself. The chance to use his brain is always exciting, so Bucky pushes aside his earlier fear and tells Steve to give him hints.

Within seconds, the shaking starts again. Now that he’s expecting it, it doesn’t seem as frightening, but he still doesn’t understand how or why Steve is causing it.

Steve guides Bucky’s hand to the coffee table…

…which isn’t shaking.

Bucky releases Steve’s hand and starts exploring. The floor isn’t moving, neither is the wall behind the couch. He gets up, and the second he’s lost contact with the couch, everything is still.

He touches the couch and feels it vibrating.

So only the couch is moving.

But how? And why?

“Why is our couch shaking? And how? How’s it doing that?”

A hand grabs his arm, and he’s being pulled back to sit on the couch. Steve very rarely manhandles him like this. He only tends to do it when he’s very, very excited about something.

This must be one of those times.

The shaking stops. Then a familiar whiteboard is being put on his lap. Bucky touches it and feels the four different bases on it.

Baseball time. He doesn’t know what this has to do with the couch shaking, but he figures Steve knows what he’s doing.

The couch starts trembling again, but faintly. It’s buzzing so lightly that Bucky can only feel it when he’s pressing himself right into the couch cushions. Steve guides Bucky’s hand to first base, where a domed magnet is waiting to hit the ball. Nothing moves except the slight trembling of the couch, until suddenly—

—the couch gives him a jolt as it jumps into rapid, hard shaking. At the same time, Steve moves Bucky’s hand to trace a waxy string from home plate out into the outfield—the path of the ball.

The couch’s shaking continues as their domed magnet runs from first base to second. The magnet stays put on second base, and slowly, the couch’s shaking calms until it’s back to the faint tremors.

_Oh, my God!_

“Steve—Steve is the shaking connected to the baseball?”

Tap.

“Is—is the shaking—it’s connected to what’s happening on the TV, right?”

Steve taps his hand. He explains that the shaking is connected to the sounds being made on the TV.

Bucky’s been to enough baseball games to put it together. The slight tremor was the constant noise in the stadium—people chatting, birds chirping, hot dog vendors yelling for customers as they walk up and down the aisles—and the big shaking happened when the crowd let out a loud cheer when the bat connected with the baseball and sent it flying.

_Oh. My. God!_

Bucky feels a huge smile form on his face. “Are you serious? I can hear baseball? Are you _serious_?!”

Steve happily jostles and taps his hand and tells him that he can use these things to listen to anything that’s on the television.

“Wow. I—Stevie, this is—wow. How, how is it doing that?”

Steve tells him he installed something called [tactile transducers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xkWA-IzdVMI) into their couch. They’re like speakers, but they’re designed to turn sounds into vibrations somebody can feel. They’ll have to experiment and practice to get good at using them. They can change the sensitivity, and Bucky will have to learn to recognize the different types of shaking to truly appreciate what’s going on.

Bucky can’t stop smiling. “Can we listen to another hit? I wanna feel it again.”

So Steve gets them set up, Bucky’s hand on the magnet on first base and the couch buzzing gently. The crowd chatting under the blue sky, eyes on the batter, waiting to see what happens.

Bucky can feel the tension in his gut.

Everything suddenly seems more real.

When the hit comes, and the couch gives a jolt as it erupts into hard shakes, Bucky can hear the echoes of the crowd cheering. Steve guides his hand to feel the path of the ball, and he can picture it in his mind—the small white ball sailing over the field under the bright blue sky.

His smile gets even bigger.

“Steve, what’s the weather like on the TV? Is it sunny?”

Tap, tap.

That’s good. That fits with the blue sky he has pictured in his mind.

Now Bucky can fully visualize what’s on the television screen.

“One more time. Please.”

Steve kisses his cheek and tells him they can repeat it as much as they want.

They do it twice more and it feels more amazing each time.

Having that additional sensory input from the vibration helps Bucky’s mind conjure up the accompanying sounds and sights from his memory.

It’s amazing!

“Stevie? Stevie, come here.” He releases Steve’s hand and pulls Steve into his arms. He turns Steve’s chin and kisses him. “You’re a peach and these are amazing. No, they ain’t just amazing, these are the cat’s meow, Rogers.”

And they both know that Bucky hasn’t used that term for many things in his life. But these things definitely deserve to be called the cat’s meow.

“Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you. You know what this means to—”

Steve presses his thumb against Bucky’s lips, stopping the words. He kisses him and spells out: E-O-T-L-I.

End of the line, idiot.

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut and presses his forehead against Steve’s shoulder, feeling overwhelmed. Steve wraps his arms around him and kisses Bucky’s temple.

They stay like that for a while until Bucky’s stomach growls. “Let’s go eat breakfast,” he mumbles into Steve’s shirt. “And then can we come back and watch more television?”

Tap, tap, tap.

They eat breakfast, and then they spend most the day on the couch, watching different things. They finish watching the baseball game and then Steve suggests re-watching the Gladiator movie.

“No, we don’t gotta re-watch it. You just saw it. It’ll be boring for you.”

Steve tells him he doesn’t want to re-watch it for himself, but he knows Bucky hadn’t enjoyed it the first time around—it seems Bucky hadn’t hid his disappointment as well as he’d thought—so Steve wants to see if the transducers make a difference.

And wow, they do make a difference!

A huge difference.

The fight scenes are suddenly one of the best parts of the movie. Because Bucky already knows how each fight will end, he takes his hand out of Steve’s grasp, and decides to experience the fight scene only by feeling it.

*             *             *

When Bucky tells him he wants to just feel the fight scene, Steve decides to join him. He mutes the television, closes his eyes and leans back against the couch, focusing on the vibrations.

He can tell exactly when a brutal blow is landed, and when the hero manages to dodge his enemy’s sword. Now that he’s only paying attention to the vibrations from the couch, he can feel the slightest changes in the vibrations, and he can match those up with the actions and sounds he knows are happening on the screen.

He doesn’t bother opening his eyes but he feels along the couch for Bucky’s hand. When he finds it, he gives it a happy shake.

Bucky turns his hand, curls their fingers together and jostles back just as happily.

*             *             *

Today’s the day. Today’s the day they’ll get to the beach.

Well, Bucky shouldn’t get ahead of himself.

Today’s at least the day when they’ll transfer from the R to the Q train.

Steve reminds him a million times that they can quit at any time. They don’t have to make it to the beach today or any other day. Or they can take a hackie.

Bucky’s realized that going to the beach in the middle of winter won’t be nearly as great as going in the summer, but this has grown to be about a lot more than a fun day at the beach.

They head off once the early morning rush has dissipated. Bucky’s impressed with himself that he knows they’ve reached the Court Street Station stairs before they stop at the top of the stairs.

Routine is a wonderful thing.

They board the R train and Steve helps Bucky sit down, but Steve stays standing and Bucky doesn’t fold up his cane. He knows they’re only going two stops so he needs to stay focused and ready. When Steve nudges him and puts Bucky’s hand on his cane, that’s his cue to get going.

They go back to the doors, Steve holding onto Bucky, who’s holding on to his cane. Steve keeps a tight hold around Bucky’s waist so he can stay on his feet with the train swaying all over the place.

They wait right in front of the doors, Bucky putting his hand on the window so he can feel when the doors open. The train starts slowing and eventually stops, the door slides out from under Bucky’s hand, he finds the gap and the platform with the cane and steps off the train.

Steve leads them down other hallways, presumably to the platform where the Q train will come. When the train arrives, they get on and Steve steers Bucky to his usual seat close to the doors.

As soon as Bucky’s sitting down, he grins, already feeling happy about the day’s accomplishments. “Well, we got one part done, Rogers! We’re on the Q train!”

His hand is happily jostled, and then Steve is telling him that Q Bear is probably celebrating on his shelf.

“Oh, he better be! We’ve worked real hard to get this far, haven’t we?”

Tap, tap, tap. Then Steve presses a discreet kiss to his palm and tells him to get comfortable: they have a 30 min ride ahead of them.

Bucky puts away his cane, takes off his hat and gloves and unbuttons his jacket. He reaches under his shirt and checks his watch. 10:25. Close to eleven o’clock, they’ll be there.

For the first ten minutes, he keeps track of when the train stops and starts, wrinkles his nose at the subway stench and asks Steve if there are any interesting advertisements or poems in the car. Unfortunately, all of them are ones they’re already familiar with, so he asks Steve to hand him his [corkboard puzzle game](https://www.maxiaids.com/tactile-creative-puzzle-game) and he amuses himself with that.

The puzzle is made out of a rimmed wooden box which Steve had made. Steve inserts a piece of corkboard into the box and cuts it into various shapes. Bucky needs to put the pieces into the right places so the whole box is filled with cork pieces. It’s a pretty good game since Steve can create new cork puzzle pieces whenever Bucky gets bored of the current version. Plus, the box and the pieces are light enough that Steve can carry it in his backpack. These days, Steve often brings one of Bucky’s puzzle games along so he can entertain himself if Steve needs to deal with something or if they have to wait for something.

Sometimes Steve is sitting next to him and Bucky will reach over to find out what the punk is doing. Mostly he’s on his phone so Bucky leaves him alone, focusing on his puzzle game and checking his watch to see how much longer the ride is.

When they’re five minutes away, Bucky nudges Steve in the side. “I’m gonna get ready. We’re almost there, right?”

Tap.

He hands Steve his puzzle game and puts his clothing layers back on, making sure everything is done up properly. Before he slides on his glove, he feels Steve catch his hand. He asks Bucky if he’s okay.

“I’m fine. I’m not tired. Are you good?”

Tap, tap.

“Looks like we might make it to the beach today, Rogers!”

Steve squeezes his hand. Looks like he doesn’t want to commit with a firm yes or no at this point.

At Steve’s nudge, Bucky gets up and they make their way to the door.

Bucky’s so focused on getting off the train that he’s taken by surprise when he steps off and feels the blast of winter air on his face.

“I forgot this platform is outside! Damn, it’s chilly out here.”

It’s definitely colder this close to the water without the protection of tall buildings. Bucky tugs his scarf up over his chin and yanks on his hat so it’s covering his ears properly.

He feels Steve running his hands down Bucky’s sides. “I’m okay. You make sure you’re bundled up, Mister. I’m never gonna hear the end of it from your ma if you come home sick from the beach.”

He feels Steve freeze and then start shaking. A kiss is pressed to his cheek and Bucky can feel the smile on Steve’s lips.

Yeah, Bucky can’t remember how many times that sentence has crossed his lips.

They walk along the platform and then Steve is writing an ‘E’ and a ‘D’ on his hand. That means they’ll have to take an escalator and they’ll be going down on it.

They don’t often have to deal with escalators, but they’ve practiced on them in nearby Atlantic Terminal Mall. It’s been a while since they’ve practiced, but Bucky thinks he can do it.

Steve asks him if he wants to take the elevator instead, but Bucky wants to use the escalator. “I’ll let you know if I don’t feel good about it.”

Bucky carefully sweeps around and identifies when the cane hits the metal surface of the escalator platform. He steps to the side of the metal grating. Whenever he’s going to deal with stairs or escalators, once he knows where they are, he likes to step to the side so he can fold up his cane and get oriented without blocking other people.

He folds up his cane and puts it into his holster. Then he carefully reaches out and finds the moving railing. He can feel that the rubber band is moving away from him, so he knows this is the one he needs. He keeps his grip light so the band is moving beneath his fingers. He shuffles closer to it.

He moves his feet very slowly until he feels the very edge of the metal grating where he knows the moving steps are coming out.

It’s times like these when he misses his left arm. If he had another arm, he could keep his cane out in one hand, and hold the railing with his other, but he can handle doing it one-handed.

He keeps his hand on the moving band, and when he’s ready, he steps onto the moving steps with one foot, then the other. He tightens his grip on the railing, and immediately feels himself being pulled forward.

At that moment, he feels Steve tightly wrapping his hand into the front of Bucky’s jacket. Bucky knows Steve’s been on the escalator steps, walking up on the downwards moving stairs until Bucky has joined him so Steve can hold his jacket and hopefully catch him if he gets disoriented and falls. He’s stopped holding onto Bucky when they walk down stairs, but escalators are still new for them both.

He feels the step under his right foot slowly sinking. He realizes his left foot is right on the division between steps, so he shuffles it back until it’s on the step behind him.

He keeps a tight grip on the railing as he starts moving downwards.

Being on the escalator is still a bit disorienting. It’s weird to be moving without moving his own feet.

The escalator slowly moves downwards, and Bucky carefully focuses on his feet. As soon as he feels the front step rising while the back step stays still, he knows he’s getting close to the end.

Thankfully the escalators tend to move slowly enough that Bucky can wait until his front foot catches on the metal platform and that’s his cue to lift his other foot of the step. He can get himself oriented on the metal platform before the trusty railing curves down and disappears.

As with stairs, it’s much easier going up the escalators, but Bucky still keeps his feet on separate steps so he can tell when he’s getting close to the end.

Bucky steps to the side and takes his cane out and then holds out his arm for Steve.

He feels Steve curl his fingers around Bucky’s upper arm. He feels Steve brush his fingers against his cheek, then he feels a kiss on his cheek.

“I know! The escalator went pretty good, didn’t it? Our practice paid off, huh?”

They had gone to the nearby shopping center a few times in the evenings and practiced riding up and down the escalators. Bucky prefers taking the stairs or escalators over elevators. He likes putting in the work to get from one place to another. It always makes him feel great when he’s successfully completed a set of stairs or stepped off an escalator.

“Come on, Rogers. Let’s go find our beach and see how it’s changed in seventy years.”

They make their way out of the station and wander down the street, Steve focused on guiding and Bucky focused on avoiding railings and patches of ice and snow.

Steve stops them at one point and asks him if he’s hungry. “Yeah, I could eat. And is there anywhere we can get hot cocoa before the beach?”

Tap.

Steve steers them into some type of store. There’s the strong smell of deli meat. Steve steers him into a chair at a table and tells him to wait while he gets the food.

They eat warm sandwiches and drink hot cocoa. When they’re full and nicely warmed up, they get their winter gear back on, and it’s time for the beach. They walk a few more blocks when the cane starts bouncing very differently from before, and Bucky can tell as soon as he’s followed the cane that he’s walking on a different surface.

He pulls his glove off and bends over to touch the surface.

Wood. Very cold and slightly moist wood, but it’s definitely wood.

“Is this the boardwalk? Are we on the boardwalk?”

Steve taps him on the hand and helps him pull his glove back on.

Bucky grins. He can’t remember how times he and Steve have gone wandering down this boardwalk. He can’t remember how many girls he’s wandered on this boardwalk with on a platonic date.

He’d always loved this part of Brooklyn. He and Steve spent a lot of time at Coney Island, but after the hustle and bustle of the fair and the noise at work and in their apartment, it was always nice to come to Brighton where it’s quieter.

Steve links his arm through Bucky’s and they leisurely wander along the boardwalk. Steve’s completely relaxed so Bucky relaxes too—it’s obvious from Steve’s body language that there’s nobody around (and in this weather that’s no surprise) so Bucky doesn’t have to pay complete attention to what the cane is telling him, he can just let his feet do the walking, letting the cane drift in front of him.

The wind is much stronger out here and it’s bitterly cold, biting his cheeks and the tip of his nose. He burrows his chin deeper into his scarf, but there’s also that distinct smell of the ocean that Bucky’s always loved.

“Steve, I wanna go on the sand. We’re not officially at the beach until we’re on the sand.”

They walk a bit further—it’s not like they can hop the railing as easily as they did back in the day—until Steve pulls him to a stop and nudges him to turn.

The cane drops off the edge of the boardwalk and lands on a soft surface below. Bucky follows it—and then he’s standing on the sand.

Oh, my God, they’re finally at the beach!

He turns to Steve. “Stevie, we did it! We’re at the beach! Two train rides, a transfer and walking down icy sidewalks, in the middle of winter—and we did it!”

He feels Steve wrap his arms around him. Steve’s face is pressed against Bucky’s, but they’re wearing too many layers for Bucky to determine what he’s doing—until he feels cold lips press a kiss to the tip of his nose.

That won’t do.

He reaches up and tugs his scarf down. “I deserve a proper kiss and so do you. Get back here.”

Steve kisses him. Bucky’s sorely tempted to deepen the kiss, but moist lips and cold air aren’t a good combination, and this isn’t really the place to start anything like that.

He keeps the kisses chaste, feeling Steve breathing on his cheeks and pressing his forehead against Bucky’s. Steve’s lips are moving.

“I’m proud of you too. We worked really hard and look! We did it!”

Bucky shudders from the cold a bit, and he feels Steve shifting around. Then something warm is pressed into Bucky’s gloved hand. He feels Steve rubbing the edge of his hand, their old signal for ‘drink’.

“Drink what?”

Steve fumbles with something and then the scent of hot cocoa surrounds them. Ah, it’s a container and Steve must have bought extra cocoa to put in there. Smart man.

“There’s a reason I keep you around, Rogers,” he says with a laugh.

They take turns drinking, enjoying the warmth as it creeps through their bodies. Steve puts the container away and they pull their scarves back over their faces. Steve links his arm through Bucky’s and they wander across the sand.

It’s really nice to be able to walk without having to worry about getting stuck or bumping into anything or anybody. Eventually he realizes that he doesn’t even need the cane here and he folds it up and just lets Steve lead the way, enjoying the way his feet sink into the sand on each step and the ocean smell swirling around them.

When the cold wind starts getting through their clothes, they head back to the boardwalk. Steve pulls out the cane and hands it to Bucky right before they step back on the boardwalk.

Bucky stops. “Oh, Steve, wait a minute! Did you bring a bag? I wanna take some sand home. It’ll be a nice addition to my art supplies.”

Steve did bring a bag. He indicates that Bucky should wait on the boardwalk while Steve fills the bag with sand and puts it away. Bucky feels bad for not helping, but it would take him forever to do it, and in this weather, that’s not a great idea.

Finally Steve’s done and they walk back down the boardwalk in the direction they had come.

“How you doing, Stevie? You tired?”

Rub.

“You’re okay?”

Tap.

“Warm?”

Tap, tap.

“Okay good. You realize we gotta go all the home now, right? We can do it. I know we can.”

Tap, tap.

Hand squeeze.


	47. Chapter 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for Steve to start therapy! But first, a little smut to get everybody into the right mood.

When Bucky wakes up the next morning, he can already tell it’s later than normal. He reaches up and touches his watch hanging above the bed. Yup, they slept in.

But after the big day they had yesterday, that’s okay. They deserve it.

He stretches and reaches over for Steve.

Steve’s lying on his back, his chest rising slowly—he’s still fast asleep.

Bucky burrows deeper into his blankets. He’s so warm and comfortable—he wishes he could stay exactly where he is for the next fifty years. Wall of pillows on one side, Steve Rogers on the other…there’s nothing better than this.

Well, there’s one thing that’s better than this.

Being warm and comfortable is great.

Being warm and comfortable and having an orgasm is even better.

He slides his hand down his chest, slowly rubbing one nipple through his shirt, then the other. He feels the slow curl of arousal seep through his bones. It’s a wonderful feeling knowing he isn’t in a hurry. He slides his hand under his shirt and goes back to his nipples.

His nipples tighten and he pinches them into stiff peaks, tugging on one, then the other. His cock is definitely taking interest in the proceedings, getting hard in his shorts.

He runs his hand down his stomach and dips below the waistband of his shorts. He gives his cock a few slow pulls, his breath catching at how good it feels.

He kicks the blankets off himself and tugs his shorts down enough to free his cock. His cock is leaking and he rubs the stickiness over the head and tightens his grip, pulling harder. Arousal races through him, curling his toes and he knows he’s probably making ridiculous sounds.

Suddenly, he feels a hand on his shoulder.

A little burst of fear races down his spine and the shock momentarily throws him off—but he knows it’s only Steve.

He grins in his direction, not stopping the motions of his hand. “Morning, Stevie. You wanna join me?”

He feels the bed shaking as Steve moves around, then hands are touching his chest and sliding downwards. Bucky takes his hand off his cock and Steve’s hand immediately wraps around him, pulling in firm strokes and rubbing over the head. Then Steve’s warm mouth wraps around his cock and swallows him down, enveloping him in tight, moist heat.

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky breathes out, his hand flying up to grip at the pillow under his head. Steve teases him with his tongue, coaxing more precum out of him that he swallows. Bucky can feel every movement of Steve’s jaw, tongue and his throat. One of Steve’s hands run back up his chest and finds one of his nipples, rubbing, circling and pinching.

Steve keeps the pace maddeningly slow until Bucky feels like he’s about to combust. Then Steve increases the suction and moves off him enough that Bucky can brace one of his feet on the bed and thrust up into his mouth. Steve pinches his sensitized nipple _hard_ and that’s when Bucky comes, his orgasm slamming through his body.

When he comes back to himself, he’s aware of Steve rubbing his belly, his head propped on Bucky’s hip.

“Hot damn, Rogers. That’s a great way to wake up, huh?” He shifts a bit, wedging his hand underneath Steve and finding his cock. Steve’s hard and he grinds against Bucky’s hand. “What do you want? Tell me.”

Steve disappears, then the mattress moves and a few moments later, something hard lands on Bucky’s chest. The shock sends that familiar shiver of fear through him, but that’s pushed aside the moment he grabs the foreign object and recognizes what it is.

Bucky smirks and sits up, dropping the bottle of lube next to him so he can pull off his shorts. He shuffles down the bed, pushing the blankets away and then goes searching for the bottle.

He lubes up his fingers, knowing Steve’s busy getting himself ready.

Sure enough, when Bucky knee walks closer to Steve, he feels Steve stretching his legs out around Bucky, his knees bent. Bucky shuffles closer until his knees bump into Steve’s ass. He trails his fingers down Steve’s thigh to his cock, which is stiff and leaking steadily.

“Oh, look at you. And a good morning to you, Mr. Rogers.” Bucky smiles and jerks him a few times, just enough to feel more stickiness leak out and drip down his cock. He catches the moisture on his fingers and drags his fingers down Steve’s balls to his hole.

He feels Steve shift his legs, opening himself up more, eager for Bucky’s finger to get in him.

Bucky doesn’t tease him—he circles the rim once and gently eases two fingers into the moist heat. He pumps his fingers, stretching his hole and slips in a third finger.

“Look at you—taking my fingers so easily. You love having my fingers in here, huh? Makes you feel real good, don’t it? And you like feeling real good, don’t you? I know you’re making all sorts of delicious noises right now. You’re feeling so good, aren’t you?”

He hates that he can’t see or hear Steve anymore when they’re having sex like this. He loves being close enough to him that he can feel more of his reactions, but those positions aren’t optimal for certain things. Steve loves being fingered, Bucky loves fingering him, but because he’s missing his other arm, it’s impossible to stay close to Steve while doing it and still do a decent job. And doing a great job at making Steve feel good is priority number one at times like these.

When Steve’s taking the fingers easily, Bucky speeds up, pumping into him hard and hitting his prostate on each thrust. Steve’s rolling his hips up, meeting Bucky’s thrusting fingers and clenching around them.

“That’s it, Stevie. That’s it. You’re feeling so good, I know you are. You gonna come? Get your hand on your cock, sweetheart.”

He curls two of his fingers and presses them hard into Steve’s prostate. He can feel Steve shaking—jerking himself hard—then his entire body clamps like a vice around Bucky’s fingers and he knows Steve’s coming.

He pulls away from his prostate and lightly pumps his fingers into his hole, slowing his pace as Steve comes.

He feels Steve’s legs squeeze tightly around him, and he’s hooking his ankles together around Bucky’s waist, pulling him closer.

Bucky pulls his hand free and braces himself on the pillow next to Steve’s face. He leans down and brushes Steve’s face with his nose, searching for his lips. They’ve both got morning breath and Steve also smells like Bucky, but he doesn’t care. He kisses Steve, licking into his mouth, tangling his tongue with Steve’s.

One of Steve’s hand tangles in Bucky’s hair, keeping him close. Bucky pulls back just enough to brush noses with him. “I ain’t going anywhere sweetheart. In fact, I got even better news.”

He shifts his knees closer to Steve so Bucky’s cock is rubbing against Steve’s ass. He’s already half hard again.

“You keep kissing me like this and I’ll be able to fuck you with more than my fingers in a little bit,” he promises, grinning when Steve surges up and kisses him hard.

*             *             *

Steve starts the process of finding a therapist in December. Sam texts him contact numbers and Steve calls them and asks a set of questions which he and Sam had come up with.

His first question is always what the cost of a session is. He’d been appalled to discover that some therapists charge an outrageous amount of money for each session. His military back pay is being well taken care of by a financial adviser and he can easily pay bills with that money, but he doesn’t like using too much of it on something like this. He knows they don’t have to be as frugal as they were in the 30s, but if there’s an easy opportunity to save money somewhere, he’ll take it.

Which means he refuses to consider any therapist who charges more than $100 per hour.

His next question is whether the therapist will agree to conduct sessions over video chat.

The answers to both of those questions end up eliminating the majority of therapists he calls. He doesn’t even have to get past the receptionist.

But there are a few who seem like a good fit, and Steve schedules a session with each of them. Like Sam had explained, Steve will use that session to gauge whether he and the therapist fit well together.

He has five of these ‘get-to-know-each-other’ sessions set up.

The first is a man who smiles a lot, but that smile doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s cold and indifferent and says ‘I see’ to everything that Steve says, and answers all of Steve’s questions about himself with a tight smile and the phrase: ‘That’s not relevant information’.

The second is a woman who must recognize who he is and spends most of the session staring at him with wide eyes and making vague affirmative noises. It’s clear that she’s not paying attention to a word he’s saying. He thanks her for her time and disconnects.

The third is another woman, and Steve can see that her eyes are focused on the screen when he’s talking to her, but he can also hear the clicking of a keyboard. Judging by the vague answers and generic noises of agreement she provides to his questions, she’s not giving Steve her full attention. To make matters worse, she explains—in a bored tone—that she requires patients to do at least two sessions per week, and she wants the payment for both sessions at the start of the week. Steve decides her priorities are not in the right place.

The fourth is a middle-aged African-American man named Leon Powell. He doesn’t actually ask Steve any questions—he tells Steve to ask _him_ questions. When Steve expresses his surprise, Leon smiles at him and says: “Seeing a therapist is one of the most difficult things you will ever do. I was in the military for many years, and trust me, half the people I served with would rather go back to Vietnam than go to therapy. This is a journey that requires bravery and dedication, and since your therapist will be part of your team during that journey, it’s essential that you and I get along.”

Steve had pursed his lips. “There’s no way you can expect us to know each other well after a twenty minute conversation.”

“Of course not. But out on the battlefield, we had to make a lot of snap decisions, didn’t we? We didn’t have a choice in most cases. And most of those decisions take into account who you’re with. If you don’t know anything about the people hunkered down with you, how can you grow to trust them and depend on them? So, go ahead. Ask me questions.”

“You served in Vietnam?”

“Yes. ’68 to ’71.”

“Rank?”

“Sergeant.”

“What if you ask me something that I don’t wanna talk about?”

“Then I ask you why you don’t want to talk about it and if the reason has to do with me, then I’ll try to help with that. If you’re just not ready to talk about it, then we won’t. You and I have lived through a lot of the 20th century. I have no doubt we can always find something else to talk about.”

“I don’t really see how therapy will help me.”

“I know you don’t, but that’s okay. I promise you, within 3 months, you’ll see some results. And you can stop any time you want. If you’re feeling worse, then you should stop. Therapy is meant to help, not make you feel worse.”

Leon has a casual demeanour, but he’s not cold or distant. Steve realizes that Leon is being just as impartial and non-judgemental as those other therapists had been, but Leon’s still friendly and kind.

Steve can feel his guard slowly dropping. He already knows he’ll like Leon just from this short conversation.

He cancels the fifth ‘get-to-know-each-other’ session and schedules a second session with Leon.

Then he texts Sam and Natasha the good news and goes to tell Bucky.

Bucky is thrilled at the news and covers Steve’s face in happy kisses, beaming at him and telling him he’s very proud of him.

Sam and Natasha replies are just as positive.

It makes Steve feel better about this whole thing. He still doubts this whole therapy thing will be a big help for him, but he needs to do research for Bucky’s future therapy sessions, and there’s a small chance the therapy could help him, so he’s willing to give it a good shot.

*             *             *

Bucky is thrilled when Steve starts therapy. He’s happy about it for a variety of reason, the least important (but most practical) of those reasons is that Bucky hasn’t had enough time to finish Steve’s Christmas card, and the therapy sessions provide the perfect opportunity to work on it.

He loves spending time with Steve, but constantly being together makes it hard to work on secret projects.

Steve had recently become satisfied with his ability to replicate the textured flower painting from the tutorial videos properly so he’s started working on converting his galloping horse picture into a textured painting. His plan had been to give it to Bucky as his Christmas present, but it turned out that those plans were overly ambitious. The punk had been very upset with himself when he’d realized that the painting wouldn’t be ready in time for Christmas, but Bucky had laughed off those concerns.

“I’ll love it whenever I get to see it, idiot. Don’t worry about rushing.”

That’s all well and good, and Bucky’s thrilled that Steve can work on his Christmas present whenever he wants without Bucky seeing it—but Bucky doesn’t have that luxury.

It’s been weeks since he’s been able to work on the card and he knows Christmas is just around the corner. He never keeps track of exactly what day it is anymore, but he knows it’s December and the days are sliding by.

So when Steve starts his therapy sessions and he promises to tell Bucky by pushing his motion sensor as soon as he’s done or if he needs him, Bucky knows it’s the perfect opportunity to work on Steve’s card.

He keeps his art portfolio open on his lap with a blank sheet of paper on his left, while the card is on his right. His supplies are spread out on the coffee table, and if Steve suddenly presses his motion sensor, Bucky can slide the blank piece of paper over the card to hide it and pretend he’s thinking about what to create. As long as he acts casual, Steve won’t bother looking too closely at what he’s doing.

Thankfully, Leon does a great job keeping Steve occupied. So far, the punk has never ended a session early and he’s stayed in their bedroom the entire time. Bucky routinely touches his watch every few minutes to make sure he leaves himself enough time to clean up.

When he’d started decorating the card, he’d realized he’d made a big mistake by not asking Natasha to outline his written words with some kind of material. He knows what side of the card the writing is on, but he doesn’t know exactly where the words are located. He hadn’t pressed very hard with the pencil, so he can’t feel any indents and he doesn’t want to risk smudging the writing by looking too hard, so he compromises by only decorating around the edge of that half of the card.

With Natasha’s card, he asks Steve to outline his words with a nice string, but that doesn’t help with Steve’s own card.

He works as efficiently as possible, since he doesn’t know exactly how many therapy sessions Steve will have before Christmas arrives. He creates a detailed mental plan of what he’s going to do, which containers of supplies he’ll need and how to organize them on the table.

He gets himself set up before Steve’s session starts, and once he’s touched the bedroom door and confirmed it’s leaned almost fully closed—something that only happens during therapy sessions—he quickly hurries to the couch to start work.

After two sessions, Steve’s Christmas present is officially finished and Bucky is very proud of himself.

*             *             *

The first few therapy sessions go relatively well, despite Steve’s reservations about this therapy business. Leon had explained that he’s not going to make Steve talk about anything really difficult until they know each other better. Natasha had sent Steve some legal forms to look over, which Steve had carefully read through—he and Bucky aren’t ever signing anything again without reading it over thoroughly—and once he’s satisfied, he sends them to Leon for him to sign. It’s an air-tight non-disclosure agreement, which means Leon can’t discuss anything Steve tells him unless somebody’s life is in danger. That means Steve is free to talk about everything—SHIELD, Hydra, the Winter Soldier—without having to worry about censoring himself or lying.

Steve thinks the government and SHIELD probably wouldn’t be happy about the arrangement, but what they don’t know, can’t hurt them. Natasha got him the forms—through a private contact of hers, not SHIELD—and Steve is the only one who keeps a copy.

Leon is fascinated by Steve and Bucky’s life stories, but not in a weird too-involved way. He genuinely seems to enjoy hearing about the things which Bucky and Steve have lived through.

For now, Steve has only told him about the nice parts, which is mainly the time period from his birth until Bucky was drafted, and then from the time Bucky came home from the hospital to the present.

Except for the present time, the time of his life which Steve misses the most was the Great Depression—which he knows sounds ridiculous on the surface.

Steve’s gut instinct had been right. Leon is friendly, funny and a very kind man who loves people and genuinely wants to help them. Exactly the kind of person Steve likes.

Before each session starts, Steve takes his laptop, goes into the bedroom and makes himself comfortable on the bed. He leaves the bedroom door open just enough so he can hear if Bucky calls for him or if the intercom buzzes. Bucky never comes into the bedroom during his sessions, but Steve likes knowing that he can help Bucky within seconds if something happens. So far, Bucky’s always busied himself by working on an art project while Steve has his therapy sessions.

Their first difficult session takes place shortly before Christmas and covers the change in Bucky’s and Steve’s relationship since Bucky became disabled.

“What change?” Steve asks, confused. “We’ve been…together…since before.”

“I know. That’s not what I mean. For most of your lives, Bucky was the one in the caregiver role, and now that’s been flipped. In fact, your role as caregiver now is much more involved than Bucky’s was.”

“I don’t think it is. I can’t even count how many days and nights Buck spent feeding me, bathing me,  carrying me back and forth from the apartment to the outhouse, giving me medicine and making sure I didn’t die. My life was literally in his hands for days at a time. Now, Buck’s life is only in my hands when we’re crossing the street.”

Leon makes an affirmative noise, but then he gets that thoughtful look on his face that tells Steve he’s re-wording something in his head. He does that a lot when Steve doesn’t understand what he’s asking.

“But Bucky had breaks, didn’t he? When you were healthy and working, you were equals. Sure, you took care of each other, but if one of you didn’t feel like dealing with the other, you had the choice not to. Your dynamic has now changed, because you don’t have that choice.”

Steve frowns. “I don’t need to have that choice. Being Buck’s caregiver ain’t a chore!” He doesn’t mean to get defensive so quickly, but he doesn’t want anybody thinking that taking care of Bucky is a burden.

Leon’s demeanour softens a bit, but he doesn’t back down in the face of Steve’s temper. “Just because you admit to something being tiring, doesn’t mean you don’t enjoy it. There are many things we do in our lives that are exhausting, but still very rewarding.”

“What’s your question?”

“Being a full time caregiver for somebody is very difficult. Especially if that role landed on somebody’s lap out of the blue—like it did in your situation. Steve, listen to what I’m saying: I’m not accusing you of not enjoying your new role, I’m only asking you if you’ve found a way to get balance back into your life.”

Oh. That’s a valid question.

“I’m working on it. I’m doing my art again and I’m chatting with Nat and Sam more. That’s good enough for now.” He realizes he’s still sounding angry, but he can’t help it.

Leon nods. “Absolutely. I just want to make sure you’re aware of the fact that you need to shift even more back to your own side. Whether you do the shift or not, and when and how you do it is all up to you.”

Steve doesn’t reply.

“Can I ask you another question or do you want to stop for today?”

Steve sighs. “Sure. Ask your question.”

“Are you defensive when I talk about you being a caregiver because you’re worried about what assumptions I’m making?”

“I—Look, I don’t even like that this new label—‘caregiver’—is plastered on my forehead now. Nobody ever called Buck that back in the day. Nobody ever pointed out that our relationship was lopsided sometimes. Nobody cared and it wasn’t a big deal. One of us needed more help with day-to-day things sometimes—that was just a fact. Now it’s the same. I don’t—I don’t wanna be seen as special.”

“That’s fine. Like I said, as long as you’re aware that you need to make yourself a slightly higher priority, that’s fine.”

“I _know_ that.” Steve’s aware he sounds a bit childish, but it’s hard to let go of his earlier annoyance so quickly.

Leon’s nodding. “That’s good.”

“And I’m working on it, but I’m doing it at my own pace.”

“That’s perfect.”

“I might ask you for suggestions at some point, but maybe I won’t.”

“Wonderful.”

Steve glares at him but struggles to contain a smile. “I’m still annoyed with you, Powell. I don’t appreciate your sassiness. I think you should definitely make it a New Year’s resolution to get rid of the sassiness.”

Leon gives him an innocent look. “Me? Sassy? I’m just an old man, Steve. No sassiness left in these bones.” But his eyes are twinkling while he says it, so Steve works harder on glaring back at him.

*             *             *

“Leon thinks you need to do more things for yourself?”

Steve taps his hand.

Bucky smiles. “I like the man more and more after every session you have. I agree with him. I think it’s a good idea for us to come up with more things that you can do that don’t include me.” Bucky smirks. “You know I can stare at that mug of yours all day, but a break wouldn’t be bad.”

Bucky carefully doesn’t point out that he has no idea what he’d do to keep _himself_ busy if Steve spends more time focusing on himself—but that’s a problem for another day.

If he ever gets bored, he knows if he tells Steve, Steve will drop everything and spend 24 hours plastered to Bucky’s side, and that would move him in the opposite direction of where Bucky wants him to go.

So for now, they’ll focus on Steve.

“How about an art class? Or do you wanna start running again?”

Steve is quick to dismiss those. He’s not leaving Bucky home alone.

Bucky chews on his lip. He doesn’t like the idea of being left at home for hours either—what if something happens and he needs help?—but he knows they can’t spend the rest of their lives going everywhere together.

But again—that’s a problem for another day.

“Okay, let’s meet in the middle. Let’s try to find more things that you can do at home. How about you get more involved in baseball things? Do they have websites or things for baseball? You could share some things with me, but you don’t need to tell me everything.”

Steve doesn’t like that suggestion.

Bucky’s kind of glad.

Baseball’s always been their thing—something that they enjoyed together.

Well, back to square one.


	48. Chapter 48

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s time for the boys to celebrate Christmas!

A few days before Christmas, Bucky is sitting on the floor, an orange wedged between his knees and a dozen small cloves in his hand. He’s making a new set of [Pomander Balls](http://www.simplebites.net/how-to-make-spiced-orange-pomander-balls/).

To give their apartment a more Christmassy scent, they got rid of old art projects from the walls which have conflicting scents, and Steve found a website with instruction on how to make these wonderful orange-clove creations. Steve peels different patterns into the skins of the oranges, which Bucky can feel and wedge small cloves into it.

They start to mold quickly, but they smell so good that Bucky happily puts up with having sore fingers from pushing the sharp edged cloves into the oranges to make new ones every few days.

He’s just finishing an orange that has a spiral pattern peeled into it. He shoves one last clove in, drops the rest of them into his container and carefully touches the entire orange, making sure he didn’t miss any spots.

He finds a few bare patches, so he grabs a few more cloves and carefully sticks them in. Once he’s satisfied, he puts the orange onto his pile next to him, and right on cue—his motion sensor vibrates. Steve’s calling him.

“Yeah?”

When a hand touches his, he realizes Steve was standing right next to him, waiting for him to finish the last orange before interrupting him. He asks Bucky if he wants to go shopping for a Christmas tree.

The answer’s obvious. “You bet I do!”

Steve tells him there’s a small Christmas tree stand near their subway station and they seem to have a good selection of trees.

Bucky is in heaven as soon as he figures out he’s allowed to touch and smell all the trees as much as he wants. Despite the cold, he pulls off his glove so he can explore the trees properly.

The needles are very interesting to touch. When he’s pulling his hand along a branch, the needles are soft, but the individual needles have a tough, waxy coating with a sharp tip. He’s used small tree branches for his art projects, but he’s never explored a tree in such detail.

He sticks his head among the branches and breathes in the strong pine scent mingling with the cold winter air. Shoving his hand through the mass of branches and needles, he finds the rough bark of the tree trunk and traces the branches growing from it, all the way out to the soft cluster of needles growing on the tip of the branches. Along the way, he finds random clusters of hard pine cones.

When he’s got a good idea of what he’s looking at, he focuses on differentiating between the different trees. He can feel that some of the trees have clusters of dry needles which fall of the branches when he runs his hand over them. Others have bark that’s too brittle and large pieces fall off too easily. Those aren’t good signs.

He walks back and forth between the trees, finding some good options. When he’s found some healthy contenders, his job is done.

“Rogers! I found some good ones. You pick the one that looks the best. And I don’t know how tall we want it to be. I wanna get all our ornaments on it, but I ain’t climbing on a ladder to put them on.”

Steve picks one of Bucky’s finalists, asks him to confirm that he’s happy with the choice, and then Steve carries their tree home. Since Steve is carrying an entire tree on one shoulder, while his other hand is guiding Bucky, they have to stop for frequent breaks.

“If my left arm didn’t retire early, you know I’d take a turn carrying the tree,” he grouses to Steve during one of their stops. He feels Steve jab him the side with his elbow and flick him in the nose, his way of telling Bucky he’s an idiot.

They’d ordered a tree holder a few days prior, and once Steve has cut and set up the tree, Bucky gets his water bottle and carefully waters the newest (and largest) member of his plant family.

The pine scent fills the apartment and once he’s done watering it, Bucky sits by the tree, pulling his hand through the soft needles and rubbing the rough bark.

He feels Steve sit down behind him and within a few minutes, he encounters Steve’s hand among the branches.

“This is so neat, ain’t it? It’s too bad my other plants ain’t this big.”

Steve reminds him that the Chenille is making a decent effort at getting this big, and if all his plants get this big, they’ll need to rent a whole other apartment to keep the plants in.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

They sit on the floor, exploring the tree and breathing in the pine smell. The whole thing is really neat.

But eventually, Bucky remembers it has the potential of becoming much neater.

“I almost forgot! Where are the lights and the ornaments? Get the boxes out, Rogers! We’ve got work to do!”

They get off the floor and Bucky waits while Steve gets their box of decorations. The first thing Steve pulls out is a string of lights.

A few days ago, Steve had asked him if he’d be okay with putting lights on the tree. Bucky remembers how neat the Rockefeller tree had looked all lit up when they’d gone to see it before the war, and even though he can’t see the lights anymore, he can picture it in his mind, and he knows Steve will enjoy them, so he’d told Steve to buy as many lights as he wants.

Steve wraps the string of lights around the tree, tucking the wires into the branches and Bucky follows along, trailing his fingers along the wire and letting Steve know when he disagrees with the string placement.

Then it’s time for the ornaments. Along with Steve’s subway ornaments, Sam had mailed them a set of lovely old-fashioned angel ornaments, and they’d spent several days making other ornaments from scratch. Every single ornament is designed so Bucky can tell exactly what it looks like just by touching it. They’d added some color to specific ornaments which Steve said wouldn’t stand out against the tree otherwise, but Steve had been adamant that every ornament needs to be unique enough that Bucky can tell what it looks like.

They made different shapes out of styrofoam and covered them in different fabrics and glitter. There are little branch and pinecone clusters that Steve had painted gold and silver, and they’d made shapes out of thin wires. Bucky had made several nice pinhole ornaments which Steve had cut out and painted with varnish so they could be touched without ruining the pinpricks.

They pick out their favourites from the box and carefully move around the tree together, Steve helping Bucky by holding his chosen branches in place while he pushes the ribbon loops over the needles. They do a few rounds, adding different ornaments to the tree.

“Alright, make any changes that you wanna make and then we’ll turn the lights on. And get your phone! We gotta take lots of pictures for Nat and Sam. Make sure you take some with the lights on and some with the lights off.”

When it’s done, Steve wraps his arms around Bucky, kisses his neck and tells him the tree looks beautiful.

Bucky grins. “I know. I can see exactly what it looks like. We did a good job on our first tree, didn’t we?” He turns in Steve’s arms, finds his lips and kisses him.

Steve’s smiling and he taps Bucky’s hip before his lips catch Bucky’s for more kissing.

Bucky pauses in between kisses and brushes his nose against Steve’s. “Thank you for working so hard to make ornaments that I can see too,” he whispers.

Steve untangles one of his arms and spells out E-O-T-L-I on Bucky’s hand, then he presses Bucky’s fingers to his lips. He can feel Steve’s lips moving and he hears the echoes of Steve’s voice. ‘I love you, Buck’.

And that makes the whole day even better.

*             *             *

Having the tree is fantastic.

The strong scent of pine mingles with the wonderful orange and clove scent of the Pomander Balls. The pine scent always reminds Bucky that the tree is in their apartment, and he loves touching the needles, the bark and their beautiful ornaments. Every morning, Bucky cleans up the needles which have fallen, waters the tree and sometimes re-arranges some of the ornaments.

Steve buys a timer which automatically turns the Christmas lights on in the evenings and turns them off before they go to bed.

When they’re done with their evening activities and everything is tidied away, they sit together on the floor by the tree, Steve leaning against the wall and Bucky sitting between his legs. They breathe in the wonderful scents in the apartment, Steve tells him which ornaments he’s admiring, and Bucky can touch the needles and the ornaments.

It’s cozy, warm and wonderful.

*             *             *

Christmas day is as amazing as they’d hoped it would be. Bucky presents his Christmas card, and within seconds, he’s got an armful of crying Steve Rogers, who can’t get over the fact that he’s seeing his name written in Bucky’s handwriting.

Steve keeps calling him a rascal for tricking him and Natasha with his card-making deception, which Bucky thinks it hilarious.

Then the idiot apologizes for the millionth time for not having the horse painting ready for him, so Bucky pushes him over, sits on him and tells him he’s not letting him up until he promises to stop apologizing for silly things. Bucky will love his present whenever he gets it, even if it’s ten years from now.

They go out for a walk despite the fact that it’s snowing heavily, and when they come back, they eat an amazing dinner—turkey with yummy stuffing, roasted potatoes and vegetables and delicious thick gravy—and for dessert they eat slices of apple pie which Steve had baked and drink hot cocoa.

It’s easily the best Christmas dinner they’ve ever had.

Once they’re stuffed, they sit on the floor by their Christmas tree, happy and grateful for the amazing day they had.

Bucky’s leaning against the wall, Steve sitting between his legs and leaning against Bucky’s chest. They’re close enough to the tree that Bucky can run his hand through the needles, one of Sam’s angels and a styrofoam pyramid covered in lace.

“Are the lights on?” Bucky asks.

Steve taps his thigh.

“That timer thing was worth the money, wasn’t it?” He leans his head against Steve’s and breathes in the warm, pine-orange-clove-scented air. He’s warm, happy and relaxed. This is easily becoming one of the best days he’s ever had.

“Ain’t this amazing, Stevie?” he mumbles. “Our bellies are full, we’re warm, we’ve had an amazing day and we’re sitting next to our Christmas tree.”

He feels Steve squeeze his hand.

“It’s a lot better than last Christmas, wasn’t it? I only knew it was Christmas cause I could see the calendar hanging in the guards’ office from my cell. I was real upset that day cause I didn’t know if you were okay or not.”

Christmas has always been special for them. Even during the war, they’d taken the time to sit together and feel grateful that they were safe and together.

“You realize how damn long it’s been since we’ve been together for Christmas? I mean a real Christmas, not like when we were on the run and we forgot about Christmas completely.”

Steve responds with: ‘1943’.

“Yup. And we ate real good that time too, didn’t we? They had good Christmas grub. I woulda complained otherwise. We’d managed to save up and make ourselves a decent Christmas dinner every year that you weren’t in the hospital, and if two dirt-poor schmucks like us could do it, then the great big US Army could too.”

He feels Steve vibrating. His hand is lifted to Steve’s lips and he feels him laughing. Steve tells him the army wouldn’t have given a damn if Bucky had complained.

“Whatever. Just the act of complaining would have made me feel better. But I didn’t need to complain anyway. Grub was good. We were too damn cold, but the food was good.”

Steve points out that if he would have been warm too, he’d have gotten too spoiled.

“Oh, you mean like I’m getting spoiled now? Cause this right here, this is hands-down the best Christmas we’ve ever had. Well—except the ones where your ma was with us.”

He always spent Christmas morning with his own family and then headed to Steve’s afterwards. It had been Mrs. R who had taught them to start tucking away their pennies in October so they could buy good food to make a fantastic Christmas dinner. Except for a few Christmases where Steve was in the hospital and the extra money had to pay for his medication and hospital bills, they managed to have very nice Christmases.

Bucky rubs his nose through Steve’s hair and tightens his arm around him.

“I was real worried about you last Christmas.”

Steve pulls Bucky’s hand off his chest so he can spell. He tells him he’d deliberately accepted an assignment that kept him busy all the way until New Years. He’d spent one lonely Christmas without Bucky and that was more than enough.

“You mean when you came out of the ice?”

Tap. He’d learned his lesson after suffering through that. He always took work assignments which would keep him busy over Christmas. Staying busy made it easier to pretend that the dates on the calendar didn’t matter.

Bucky sighs. “I hate that you had to go through that.”

In a weird way, Bucky’s the luckier of the two of them. He’s never had to deal with losing Steve—a shudder runs through him at the very thought of it—and he doesn’t remember his time with Hydra.

Last year had been the first Christmas Bucky could remember which he had spent separated from Steve.

He’s relieved that Steve had kept himself busy, but he hates that Christmas has been such a lonely experience for Steve lately.

“But this Christmas was fantastic, wasn’t it?”

That seems to cheer Steve up. He taps, taps, taps Bucky’s hand.

It’s true. They’re warm, full of good food and they’re both safe and together. It’s as perfect as it can be.

“You know, today really reminded me that I’m happy with the choice I made. What good would my sight and hearing be if I’d have to spend the rest of my Christmases at the Raft, by myself? Here, I’m happy and safe, and I know you’re happy and safe. I’d trade my sight and hearing for that any day.”

He feels Steve turning his face and kissing Bucky’s neck.

Smiling, Bucky leans against the wall, rubbing Steve’s chest and letting the warm, pine-orange-clove scent of their apartment wash over him.

*             *             *

Even once Christmas is done, Project ‘Find More Things For Steve To Do Without Bucky’ stays on hold while they welcome 2017.  A few days into January, Steve is scrolling through the daily headlines of a New York news site and finds an [article](https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/02/13/the-second-avenue-subway-is-here) confirming that the new Second Ave line stations have officially opened. He presses his motion sensor to call Bucky over.

“What’s going on?” When Bucky’s within reach, Steve pulls him onto his lap.

“Guess what? The Q has officially grown by 3 new stations,” he says, spelling out the words on Bucky’s hand.

“They’re open?”

“Yup.”

Bucky smiles. “Well ain’t that swell! It only took a hundred years and it’s only three stations, but we’ll take it. Hey, Q Bear?”

Steve looks over at the shelf where Q Bear lives, watching over them.

“You have three new stations to guard. You think you can handle it?”

Steve chuckles. “I hope so. But he has ten years to get the hang of it until the next ones are done.”

“Hey, Rogers?”

“Yeah?”

“You wanna go visit the new stations?”

“Obviously!”

They hop on the R train, change to the Q line at DeKalb Ave and make themselves comfortable for the trip to Manhattan. To their delight, the outside of the train has been covered in bright, colorful circles spelling out ‘The Second Ave Subway’. Steve describes it to Bucky, who is thrilled that the entire city is as excited about the new subway stations as they are.

Bucky tells Steve to choose a station randomly and they hop out to explore it. They wander around the platform and head up and down the new stairs. The station is bright, huge and it smells clean. Bucky is especially thrilled at how sturdy the brand-new stairway railings are.

“There’s hardly any vibration in ‘em, Steve! So much better than our station’s stairwell.”

Steve is happy at how wide the stairwell is. Five people could comfortably walk up and down the stairs without bumping into each other. He still keeps a careful eye on Bucky as he moves up and down the stairs, but he doesn’t have to keep his arm up to ward off other people like he does in the narrow stairwells of their own station.

Bucky can’t stop marveling over the clean scent, Steve can’t believe how bright it is despite being underground, and they’re both jealous at the people who get to use this beautiful new station every day, while they’re stuck with their dearly-beloved-but-old Court Street station.

Once they’re back on the platform to catch a train heading back to Brooklyn, Steve has to guide Bucky around two women with baby strollers, which brings them closer to the platform edge than they usually get.

Bucky’s sweeping his cane back and forth, and when they get close to the platform edge, he skids to a stop. “Hang on a second. What’s this?”

Steve looks down and sees that the edge of the platform has the same weird [yellow material](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/QvZb51iYUwk/maxresdefault.jpg) on it that he’s noticed at other station platforms too, including their Court Street Station. It’s covered in flat-topped bumps and Steve always thought it was an artistic thing.

He doesn’t see any other point to it. There’s no way Bucky can really—

“Hey, this is real neat.” Bucky’s sweeping his cane back and forth from the cement floor, over the yellow stuff and off the edge of the platform. He gently rubs the sole of his shoe on the yellow material, and that’s when he starts to grin. “Steve, I think this is to let blind people know we’re at the edge of the platform. I can feel the bumpiness with my cane and under my shoes.”

“Really?”

Steve carefully pulls Bucky away from the edge and then asks him if he’s serious.

“Yeah! I think our station and some other ones have it too. I didn’t notice it at first cause I’m always so worried about the gap, but now that I’m stepping on it and feeling it with the cane, it feels familiar.”

Honestly, Steve’s never really looked at the platform edge. He’s always more interested in keeping Bucky away from the edge.

“Can I go touch it again? Do we have time?”

Steve checks the display, scans their surroundings and gives Bucky’s hand a tap. Carefully, they make their way back to the edge until Bucky’s cane rolls from the smooth cement to the bumpy surface. Steve takes a careful step forward and rubs his shoes over it.

The material is hard rubber, and now that he’s paying attention, he realizes he’d definitely notice it if he were more focused on what’s under his feet.

Bucky’s smiling happily. “I can’t believe people are so smart these days! This is fantastic! I can’t believe I didn’t notice this before.”

He’s quiet for a while, rubbing his shoe along the yellow rubber and sweeping the cane back and forth, while Steve keeps a tight grip on his jacket. It’s clear Bucky loves the tactile strip and what it represents.

Their New York has certainly come a long way.

*             *             *

“Hi Nat. Merry Christmas and welcome to 2017,” Steve says.

“Merry fucking Christmas, Rogers and happy fucking new year to you too.” She sounds exhausted. It’s not a surprise, she’d texted Steve fifteen minutes ago that she’d just come back from a mission and she would call him once she got out of the shower.

“You sound dead tired, Nat. Wanna call me tomorrow after you’ve had some rest?”

“No, no. I’m fine. I wanna hear your voice. Tell Bucky Merry Christmas from me, and tell him I love the card.”

Steve grins. He looks over at the wall next to the balcony door where his own special Bucky Christmas card is framed and displayed.

The sneaky creator of the card is sitting on the couch next to him, working on an art project. Steve shoots him a fond smile. “So you realize he tricked both us, right?”

Natasha laughs. “Yeah. He’s a sneaky devil.”

“Yes, he is. Always has been. Devious little bastard, that Barnes.”

“Did you cry when you got your card?”

Steve laughs. “Are you kidding? When I saw that he actually wrote my name on it? Of course, I cried.”

She chuckles.

He shakes his head at her, despite the fact that she can’t see it. “But I know you shed a tear too when you saw yours!”

“You’ll never know. Did you stick my card in the mail or did you drag yourself all the way to Manhattan to drop it off in person?”

“We don’t go to Manhattan for just anyone Nat, but for you, we went in person.” He hadn’t really wanted to go back to SHIELD headquarters, but Bucky had been very worried about Natasha’s Christmas card getting lost in the mail, so they’d taken the train to headquarters and dropped it off. “We had to go to Manhattan a week later to check out the new Second Ave stations anyway, so crossing borough lines just for you was a sacrifice, but it was one we were willing to make.”

She snorts. “You’re the only two people I know who actually take the subway just to see new stations.”

“Hey, if you had as long of a history with the subway as Buck and I do, you’d be just as fond of the whole system.”

“So the stations were nice?”

Steve chuckles. “They were beautiful and they smelled great!”

“Spoken like a true New Yorker.”

Steve laughs. “That’s what Buck and I are! Oh, by the way—he wants me to thank you a million times for the documents.”

A thick envelope had arrived in their mail a few days after the new year. In it, there was a department store Christmas card from Natasha, a note from her apologizing for the package being late, two copies of Bucky’s birth certificate, a social security card for him and an ID card with Bucky’s picture and name. The best part is that none of them are fake. They’re real, government-issued documents and they even have Bucky’s actual birthdate on them and that’s amazing.

Steve watches as Bucky decides he’s done working on his art project for the day and carefully slides his creation into his art portfolio and closes up the little containers. He gets up from the couch and makes his way to the bathroom to wash his hands—without using his cane.

Nat makes an unimpressed noise. “I know it’s a boring Christmas present and it was late too but—”

“Oh, my God, Nat, no, it was very thoughtful and honestly, I’m a bit mad at myself that I didn’t think about starting with that stuff, but you saved us all a bunch of time and aggravation. That’s the best kind of present there is. Besides, I still haven’t finished Bucky’s present, so you’re way ahead of me.”

She laughs. “That does make feel better. Well, I’m glad you both like it. Honestly, it didn’t take a lot of work on my end. I just asked for a favor, that’s it.”

Steve chuckles. Bucky’s back in the living room and he gets his gardening water bottle. His first stop is the Christmas tree. He kneels down and shuffles closer to the tree, carefully keeping his eyes closed when he pushes aside the lower branches with the hand holding the water bottle. Once he finds the tree stand, he fills it with water, stopping every few squirts to check the water level.

Once he’s done with the tree, he goes to his other plants and feels the soil to check which ones need watering. When that’s finished, he puts his water bottle back on the shelf and retrieves his small pruning scissors. He heads over to his Chenille plant and carefully starts looking for branches that need trimming.

The plant is definitely a fast grower. It’s spilled out of the pot a few weeks ago and the long green tendrils and fuzzy red worm-like flowers are hanging past its shelf now. They both love it, but neither of them want to be kicked out of their apartment by a wild growing plant, so Bucky gently trims it back when it starts getting out of control.

Steve puts his phone on speaker while Natasha tells him about her latest mission and takes time to stretch. He knows Bucky will be busy with the Chenille for at least twenty minutes.

“Thank you for the pictures of your tree,” Natasha says.

Steve smiles, staring at their beautiful tree. He’d changed the setting on the lights so they’re twinkling now and the lights are reflecting off their ornaments. “You liked the ornaments?”

“Uh huh. I saw the subway balls and the ones you guys made. The stick things looked really good. I thought they’d look awful with the gold paint, but you were right—they looked great.”

“I told you they’d look good. You always forget I’ve got a bit of an artistic side to me.”

She laughs. “No! Really?!”

“Did you see the angel ornaments Sam sent us? They’re real cute.”

“Yup, I zoomed in and looked at everything. It really looked good, Rogers. You guys did great.”

Steve smiles. “It’s a fantastic tree. I wish it would last all year, but it’s already drying out.”

“Is it still up?”

“Oh, yeah. We wanted to make sure you could see it.”

There’s silence on the other end.

Maybe Steve is over-estimating the excitement of the Christmas tree?

“I get it if you don’t wanna see it—I mean, you’ve seen all 23 pictures of it. I know I went a bit overboard with the pictures, but it was our first tree,” he says, feeling a bit defensive about it.

“No, no, I wanna see it!” She sounds wide awake all of a sudden. “It’s my first tree too!”

Steve frowns and sits up. “Really? You should have said something. We’d have made some special ornaments for you.”

“Jesus, calm down. It’s fine. I’ll try to get time off next Christmas and I’ll come make my own ornaments.”

“I like that plan. So you wanna come see the tree?”

“Definitely.”

That reminds him that he’s been waiting to talk to Nat about something that’s been roiling around in his head for a few weeks. He had a great idea for Bucky’s upcoming birthday present, but he has no idea if it’s a crazy idea or not. If it’s even remotely possible to pull it off, he’ll need Natasha’s help. And seeing how delayed Bucky’s Christmas present is, he wants to get started with his birthday present extra early. He knows there’s a chance this project will take a few months.

“Hey, listen Nat. There’s something I wanna to talk to you about. Well, there’s a few things, but there’s one thing in particular.”

“Okay, let’s hear it.” She sounds enthusiastic, but he can hear her stifling yawns.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Not tonight. You sound like you’re gonna fall asleep any second. Get some rest and tomorrow either call me, or do you wanna come for a walk at Prospect Park? We’re taking the train over there tomorrow.”

“Can I come over after to see the tree?”

He snorts. “You don’t got a choice, Romanov. And you’re staying for games and dinner too.”

She laughs. “I love you too.”

“Of course you do. You wanna meet us at the exit gates by the Prospect train station at eleven tomorrow?”

“I’ll be there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of our New York locals around here ([Noksoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/noksoo/pseuds/noksoo)) rode the Q train and checked out the new Second Ave line stations! She took amazing photos of one of the three new stations, which you can see [here](https://photos.app.goo.gl/McgpPZ5FYPVTGX7C3).


	49. Chapter 49

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re spending this chapter with Natasha and the boys!

The morning is a lot colder than Steve’s phone had promised it would be but as she’d promised, Natasha is standing at the top of the Prospect Park station’s stairwell, her hands stuffed in her jacket pockets. She’s wearing the navy blue hat that Bucky had knit for her.

“Hey, Nat!” Steve calls up to her.

“Hello boys! The steps are slick, be careful.”

They slowly make their way up the stairs and come to a stop right before Natasha, and then Steve tells Bucky that she’s right in front of them.

Bucky’s smile is so big that Steve can see it despite the winter hat, sunglasses and pulled up jacket collar obscuring most of Bucky’s face. “Hi, Nat!”

She steps up and gently takes his hand. She spells out a greeting on his palm and then she pulls his hand up so he can touch the hat on her head. Steve can tell from the pleased smile on Bucky’s face that he recognizes his handy work.

“You’re wearing the hat again! You like it?”

She taps his hand multiple times.

Bucky looks very pleased. “Oh, good. I’m so happy to see you! We missed you over Christmas, but when you gotta go to work, you gotta go to work. We kept the tree up for you.”

She spells out a reply on Bucky’s hand but Steve can’t tell from this angle exactly what she’s saying.

“Of course it wasn’t a problem! And thank you for the documents. That was real nice. Did you like your card?”

She taps his hand multiple times and then spells something else.

“Oh, good,” Bucky says, sounding pleased. He holds up the crook of his elbow. “Will you do me the honor of joining me for a stroll around the park?”

She taps his arm and holds onto his upper arm the way Steve’s shown her. That’s when Steve steps up to her.

“Hi, Nat,” he says, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

“Hi, Steve. How’s it going?”

“Good. Like Buck said, we’ve missed you.”

Natasha smiles and holds out the crook of her elbow to Steve. “Wanna join us?”

He links his arm through hers so she’s in the middle.

“Three squeezes means go, right?”

“Yup. One squeezes is stop, two squeezes means slow down. Sliding up is left and sliding down is right. I’ll warn you if there’s something you need to tell Buck.” Steve’s not worried about Natasha possibly not remembering the other guiding cues. They’re in the park so they won’t have to deal with stairs, curbs or other complicated scenarios.

Natasha squeezes Bucky’s arm three times to signal they’re ready to go, and they’re off.

It’s cold and it’s lightly snowing, so the walkways through the park are nearly empty. The occasional person walks past them, and the die-hard joggers are sticking to their routines, but otherwise it’s quiet and peaceful. Despite the serene surroundings, Steve’s eyes are constantly roaming around out of habit, searching for anything on the ground or at their body heights which could cause problems for Bucky.

He’s so used to the scanning by now that his eyes roam around and catalog his surroundings while the rest of him is able to enjoy his walk. Most of the snow had been cleared from the walkways, but there are some icy patches here and there and there are branches and other debris.

“How’s therapy been going?”

Steve smiles. “Great. Leon’s fantastic and he’s been great about me doing sessions from home.”

She chuckles. “Would you have believed it if somebody told you five years ago that you’d be doing therapy sessions over video chat?”

Steve smiles. “I didn’t even know what video chat was back then.”

“I’m really proud that you’re doing this. I think it’s gonna be helpful for you.”

He nods. “It is, I can already tell. It’s real nice being able to talk to somebody who ain’t gonna get upset or blame themselves about what I’m saying. You know I started going just because all of you really wanted me to go, but I like it.”

“I’ll try not to say ‘I told you so’.”

He elbows her in the side, careful not to jostle her too much. He doesn’t want to interfere with Bucky’s concentration. “You’re hilarious.”

They lapse into silence for a while, the only sounds their feet crunching over the frozen ground and Bucky’s cane tip rolling back and forth as he sweeps.

“So we’re gonna try eating at a restaurant soon,” Steve says. They’ve grabbed easy-to-eat food from street vendors and delis, but they haven’t eating in a restaurant yet. He orders take-out often, but Bucky had been hesitant about eating in a restaurant. He’d explained that he doesn’t like the idea of people staring at him eating.

It had caught Steve by surprise. Usually Bucky isn’t aware of people staring at him—and Steve never points it out to him. Bucky doesn’t realize he attracts attention due to his disabilities when he’s walking around, but he probably figured out his eating methods are a bit unusual. He’s gotten much better at eating, but food still gets shoved off the plate sometimes or ends up in Bucky’s lap, and he can’t cut large items by himself.

“I don’t mind having you cut up my food for me when we’re at home, or if you don’t do the cutting, I don’t mind getting a bit messy when I’m eating. But I don’t want people thinking I don’t got any manners when they see me eating.”

It’s not something Steve cares about, but Bucky’s always prided himself on putting on a good front when he’s out in public.

Steve had thought the problem through. He’d asked Bucky if he’s willing to give it a try if Steve minimizes the potential for attention-grabbing eating. Steve can look through the menu and order items that are already cut up and easy for Bucky to eat without making a mess. He can probably ask for it to be served in a bowl so the chances of pushing food off the plate are minimized. If the food they want needs to be cut up at the table, Steve can order them both the same thing, cut up his own portion and discreetly switch plates with Bucky. They can also bring a small sheet of the non-slip matting with them and put it underneath Bucky’s bowl to keep it from sliding around.

Steve thinks it’s doable, and Bucky’s willing to give it a try.

Natasha smiles. “Yeah? Buck’s ready for that?”

“We think so. We’ll give a try and we’ll let you know how—Nat, there’s some branches with icicles poking out up there, let’s move to the left side of the path. Slide your hand a little up Buck’s arm. Not too high—we don’t want him turning too much, just a little—but make sure he can feel you sliding your hand through his jacket.”

“Got it.” Natasha gives Bucky the signal and they all drift over to the left. “Good?”

“You’re awesome.”

She smiles. “Buck’s the awesome one for understanding what I was saying.”

Steve grins. “You’re both awesome. Let’s leave it at that or we’re gonna have an argument.”

She laugh, then they lapse into silence for a few minutes, enjoying the scenery and the cool winter air.

Eventually Natasha jabs her elbow into his side. “So Rogers?”

“Yes, Romanov?”

“Are you in permanent retirement now or something else?”

Why the hell is everybody so obsessed with how he spends his time these days? But he knows they aren’t wrong. Most of his life does revolve around Bucky. It always has, but he agrees with Leon that the dynamic has changed. He’s not just focused on Bucky because he loves spending time with him, but also because he’s responsible for Bucky’s safety and happiness.

But Bucky’s getting more independent by the day—which is great—but Steve’s realizing that unless he broadens his own horizons, he might end up interfering with Bucky’s independence purely due to his need to always focus on Bucky.

And that’s a mess that he has no intention of getting into.

Maybe that’s not the right motivation that Leon and Bucky want him to have, but either way, the solution is the same: Steve needs to find more things to do that don’t revolve around Bucky.

Working would the best solution. Not only would it give him something to do that Bucky isn’t involved in, but it would ease his constant worrying over their financial situation. He and Bucky would both feel better about their situation if at least one of them were working.

As if sensing what he’s thinking about, Natasha gives him a soft smile. “If you’re thinking of going back to work, you know you don’t have to if you don’t want to. The money’s being well taken care of, you know that.”

He smile, but he knows she can see the tension in it. “I know, but…”

“You still don’t like the idea that the money isn’t sitting under your mattress, don’t you?”

“I’ve told you a thousand times: nobody actually kept money under their mattress. If it’s common knowledge that everybody kept their money in a specific spot, thieves would have a real easy time robbing people, wouldn’t they? And yeah, I would like to have all the money in the apartment where I can keep an eye on it, but I know why that’s not reasonable.”

A few months after he’d met Natasha back in 2011, she’d asked him point-blank what he’d done with his military back pay.

He’d put it into the bank, which is what SHIELD had advised him to do. He’d hated that idea, but he didn’t see any other options at the time.

He didn’t trust the banks, just like his ma and tons of other folks back then hadn’t. The bank is always happy to take your money, but there’s no guarantee they won’t lose it…and when they do, you’re staring at an empty account and listening to the bank give meaningless excuses. And excuses won’t pay any bills.

He wasn’t gonna fall into that trap like so many others had, but keeping that amount of money in his apartment was unrealistic. Whenever his SHIELD paycheck was deposited into his account, he’d immediately take that money out and keep it in his apartment but he couldn’t do that with 3 million dollars.

Natasha had listened to his carefully thought about arguments for and against using the bank or his apartment, and once he was done, she’d informed him they were going to the bank, withdrawing the money and taking it to her financial adviser. If Steve didn’t like what the financial adviser had to say, then he could bring it back to the bank.

Steve had no idea what a financial adviser really was, but in those days, everything was so overwhelming that he was thrilled to just follow where Natasha led. He’d reasoned with himself that if the money disappeared, he was still working for SHIELD and would continue getting a paycheck and he had his money stash in the apartment. He’d be fine.

He and Natasha had taken out the money and gone to her financial adviser. It was one of those fancy offices in the huge skyscrapers in Manhattan that made Steve dizzy to look at and always intimidated him. He didn’t belong in buildings like that. The people in the building would realize that he was nothing but a dirt-poor schmuck from the Heights and he’d be kicked out within seconds of going in.

Thankfully, Natasha had done all the talking. Steve had tried to follow what she was saying, but in those days, he’d been constantly exhausted and had trouble focusing on simple day-to-day tasks, so following a complex financial discussion with a bunch of words he didn’t understand wasn’t going to happen.

The adviser and Natasha had asked him a few questions, wanting to include him, but when he kept deferring to Natasha, they eventually left him out of it. He was given a bunch of papers, and honestly, he was so tired at that point he was ready to sign them even if it meant giving away all of the money. Before he could sign, Natasha had taken the pen out of his hand and pulled him out of the room.

She’d given him a light smack on the cheek. “Rogers? Have been listening at all?”

In those early days, he’d mostly been ‘Rogers’ and she’d been ‘Natasha’.

He’d nodded. Sure, he’d been listening. He hadn’t really been understanding or caring, but he’d been listening.

She’d given him a hard look. “I’m doing this to help you, okay?”

“I know, Natasha. Thank you. It’s really—”

“No, shut up. You’re not listening. I know you don’t understand everything that’s in those papers, but I want you to sign them, okay? We have to get that money invested as soon as possible. You can change your mind about where it’s being invested later. Right now, you have to trust me, okay? Let me take care of this.”

That had been the first time since he’d woken up in this new world that somebody had volunteered to take some of the enormous weight he’d been carrying off his shoulders, and the gesture had been very overwhelming.

He’d felt his eyes flood with tears and struggled to blink them back. He’d barely managed to nod.

Natasha had sighed softly. “Oh, you fossil.”

Then she’d pulled him back into the room and told him where to sign.

For a few years after that, Steve didn’t even think about his military back pay. He was living in SHIELD quarters, eating food SHIELD provided and using the internet SHIELD provided. He only had minor personal expenses, which were easily covered by his paycheck. He still routinely pulled his pay out of the bank as soon as the payroll people put it in there, but he didn’t need to spend most of it.

When he moved out to DC and followed Natasha’s urging to find his own personal apartment, he had to finally deal with paying his own bills. He hadn’t bothered budgeting, so he’d been shocked to discover that the area he’d chosen to live in and the furniture he’d ordered actually exceeded the income he’d made that month. He had his stockpile of cash, but he hated using that emergency money for normal expenses, and that’s when he’d called Natasha in a panic and asked her to help him get out of his lease.

She’d called him an idiot and reminded him that he had his little nest egg and this was exactly the kind of situation it was for. Steve had felt like a fool. The only time he’d thought about his military back pay was during an annual phone call which he’d receive from the financial adviser, telling him how the money was doing. But the man always used a lot of terminology Steve hadn’t understood and the numbers had always sailed over his head. Not wanting to be rude, he’d never interrupted the man, he’d just thanked him and told him he’d talk to him next year.

That was the point Steve had realized he should have paid more attention to those phone calls.

Natasha helped him log into the account where he could see where the money was invested and how it was doing. He’d been happy to see that the money had grown every year since he’d invested it. He hadn’t understood most of the technical words on the page, but the total was bigger than when he’d invested it, and that was the important part.

Natasha helped him contact the financial advisers and they agreed to regularly transfer some money from his investment account into his regular bank account so he could comfortably cover his bills.

A few weeks later, Natasha had suddenly appeared on his doorstep. She’d brought a book called ‘Investing for Dummies’ and they spent a few hours sitting at his table, with his account open on the computer and Natasha highlighting and marking up the book while she explained things. Steve had finally started to understand what he’d agreed to when he’d signed those papers and what some of the technical terms meant.

That had started a new chapter in his life. Instead of ignoring the nest egg, he logged in and checked his account every few days. He nearly had a heart attack on a day when he saw things had decreased and he’d lost most of the money he’d gained over the past two months. He’d decided to check more frequently to keep an eye on things…and that snowballed out of control until he was checking multiple times a day and looking up information on specific stocks and bonds on his own to try to figure out if the advisers should be investing into those or not.

After a bad month, Steve decided he’d had enough and he called Natasha to tell her he was taking the money back out because clearly those idiots didn’t know what they were doing. He wasn’t going to let them lose it all. He should have known better in the first place. She’d calmed his panic and told him he needed to trust the professionals. Yes, he was taking a risk investing the money, but that’s why he had a diverse portfolio—which Steve actually understood the meaning of—and he’d be taking a much bigger risk leaving it in the bank or in his apartment.

He’d told her that quite frankly, he was still more comfortable keeping the money in his apartment. He’d spent his entire life having his money under his control and he hated having it be under someone else’s.

Natasha had reasoned with him, reminding him that storing that much money in his apartment was ridiculous. That’s when he’d angrily retorted that he was keeping his pay in his apartment, which is what he’d done his entire life and he knew how to do it safely.

She’d pointed out that he had no idea what 3 million dollars looked like in cash and no matter how clever he was at hiding the cash, there was no way he could do it with that amount.

So Steve had decided then and there that the nest egg was nice, but he didn’t want to be dependent on it. If things went sideways, the money could disappear overnight and he’d be left with only his stockpile.

Ever since Bucky had come home from the hospital, it’s been emotionally difficult for Steve to be dependent on the nest egg to pay their expenses. He still kept his stockpiles of cash hidden in the apartment for emergencies, but he was very aware that even replenishing the stockpiles depended on the nest egg and the investments it was connected to.

Steve wants to be in control of his financial situation again. He’s tried getting used to living off money other people are making for him, but he can’t get comfortable with it. He knows he’ll feel more comfortable with their financial situation if he was getting a steady paycheck again.

That was something he and Bucky had spent nearly two decades striving towards. It was always Goal Number One. A job with predictable, secure pay could save you when everything else blows up in your face.

Steve knows he’d feel a lot calmer if he had that security back.

But he’s not going to compromise Bucky’s safety and happiness.

That’s absolutely not an option.

“Nat, I really do wanna work. I want a steady, predictable paycheck again. I know the nest egg is doing what it’s doing, and that’s great, but I—”

“You want more control over it. I get it, I do.”

“Yeah. Plus, it’s not good that I spend all day just focusing on helping Buck. I gotta have my own thing to focus on.”

She nods. “I agree. You boys are in this for the long haul—you gotta find a system that’ll work long term.”

“Yeah. But _wanting_ to work and actually _finding_ work that’ll fit with our lives ain’t the same thing.”

“What are you thinking about doing?”

Steve shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t really care to be honest. But I gotta work from home. I can’t leave Buck alone for hours every day. It’s dangerous and it ain’t fair to him. What if there’s a fire or he hurts himself?”

“Plus, I know he loves his art projects, but—”

“But doing that all day, every day ain’t a decent life. There aren’t a lot of activities he can do on his own yet, plus, there are too many things he needs me for. I’m not gonna spend all day in an office. That ain’t fair to him.”

“So you wanna work from home?”

Steve snorts. “I wish.”

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, you fossil. Lots of people work from home these days. That’s the beauty of phones and the internet. I’m surprised you didn’t ask about it earlier. You’re doing therapy sessions over the internet, why couldn’t you work over the internet? The only question is what work you wanna do.”

“I have no idea. But I don’t really—Nat, there’s a bit of ice up ahead. We can walk over it, but signal Buck to slow down a bit. Two squeezes.” He waits while she signals Bucky and he slows down. Nat and Steve adjust their pace to match his. “As long as it gives me something to do and I can do it from home, I’ll take it.”

She chews on her lip, lost in thought for a while. “I might have—”

That’s when they reach the icy patch and Bucky says: “There’s some ice here. It ain’t very thick, we can go across. Walk carefully, everybody.”

Steve untangles his arm from Natasha and steps around to walk behind Bucky, just in case he slips. There’s no way Natasha would be able to catch him.

They crunch their way across the ice with no problems and Steve steps back to Natasha’s side. “You were saying?”

“What about doing art commissions? Or doing illustrations or learning how to do graphic design? You can get paid to make art.”

Steve makes a face. “No thanks. I’ve done that before and I don’t like it.”

She looks surprised. “Back in the 30s?”

“Yeah. I—look, that’s a longer story and I don’t feel like getting into it right now, but I made up my mind back then that I didn’t like taking orders from other people when I create art. I like being in complete control of what I’m making and how long it takes me and whether the end result meets my standards or not. Doing it for money means I gotta give up control and I don’t like that.”

“Okay. No art-related jobs. That’s fine,” she says, frowning thoughtfully. “You know, what? I think I actually have an idea that would work.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. But I gotta talk to him first and see how he feels about you working from home.”

“You gonna tell me some details?”

She shakes her head. “No, I don’t wanna bother you about it if he says no. I’ll let you know when I have some solid leads.”

Steve grins and gently hip bumps her. “Thanks, Nat.” All this talk about their financial situation reminds him. “Oh, and there’s something else I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.”

“Hmm?”

“Buck’s birthday is coming up in March and I have an idea of what to get him.”

“You don’t need my help deciding whether he’d like something or not. It’s me who needs to ask you that.”

Steve smiles. “True. This is something I know he’d like, but I don’t know if it’s possible to get it for him.”

She frowns. “Now I’m intrigued. What’s this mystery item?”

“His back pay.”

Natasha’s eyebrows fly up. “His military back pay?”

“Yup.”

She’s quiet for a few minutes, thinking it over. “Technically there aren’t any legal reasons why he wouldn’t be entitled to it.”

“Nope. But SHIELD and the government would fight us.”

“True. But if we make them see that handing over the check is easier than dealing with the two of us for the next fifty years, I think they’d do it.”

Steve stares at her. For the first time since he’d thought up the idea, he allows himself to think that it’s a possibility. “Really? You think it’s doable?”

“Oh, absolutely. But just in case, let’s not tell Bucky.”

“No, I agree. He’s so sensitive about the fact that he ain’t working and we’re living out of my account. I don’t want him thinking he’s gonna have this huge amount of money coming in and then have it blow up in our faces.”

“I’ll send you the forms to get things started.”

Steve grins. “Thanks, Nat. It’s gonna mean a lot to Buck.” It’s not just the fact that Bucky is entitled to the back pay that excites Steve about getting it for him. Bucky worries about their financial situation and it’s a huge change for him not to contribute financially to their household. Having the back pay would go a long way to ease his concerns. Not working will still be something that bothers Bucky but he could calm his fears a bit.

He knows both of them will continue living in their frugal ways even if they get Bucky’s back pay, but they’ll be able to relax about random large expenses a bit more.

If they both have their military back pay to fall back on, and Steve starts working, they’ll both know that they’re financially secure.

“Hey, do we wanna do another loop and then swing by Starbucks before the train?”

“And then it’s tree time?”

Steve laughs. “Yes, then it’ll be tree time. But first, can you stop and ask Buck if he’s okay stopping at Starbucks?”

They’re both very fond of Starbucks hot chocolate, especially when they get it topped with delicious whipped cream and chocolate syrup.

They come to a stop and unsurprisingly, Bucky loves the idea. “But I wanna take a picture of us first. We’ve never taken a picture of the three of us together, and it’s high time we do that. Rogers, get your phone out and get us set up. And don’t forget to send the photo to Nat once it’s done.”

*             *             *

Bucky’s felt like a heel ever since Steve had told him that Natasha had volunteered for an assignment which would keep her busy over Christmas. It’s a pattern that’s sadly familiar, and he hates that neither he nor Steve had noticed in time.

They’d both decided they would be inviting Natasha over for next Christmas, and if she happened to be working, they’d wait until she got back home to have Christmas. The dates on the calendar are irrelevant.

As soon as they’re in the door, Bucky takes off his jacket, shoves his cane in his holster and feels around the mass of bodies in the entry way for Natasha.

“Nat, gimme your jacket and hat. I’ll hang them up.” He feels a jacket being draped over his arm and the wool hat being stuck over his hand.

He finds the empty hooks by the door and hangs everything up, then heads to the bathroom to wash his cane. Once he’s dried it and shoved it into his holster, he comes out of the bathroom and grins.

“Come on, Nat, lemme show you the tree!”

He holds out his hand and feels a slender hand grabbing it. It’s always a bit strange to feel how small and thin her hand is compared to Steve’s. It reminds him of how Steve’s hands used to feel before the serum.

Walking slowly, he leads her through the apartment to the Christmas tree. “Hang on, let me turn on the lights.”

Going to the wall, he crouches down, running his hand down the wall until he finds the outlet and the timer that’s stuck in it. He finds the little plastic switch on it and flicks it. “Is it lit?”

There’s a tap on his shoulder, so his job’s done. Getting up, he holds out a hand and finds Natasha standing by the tree.

“You like it?”

Her hand finds his and taps it. She turns his hand over and tells him it looks even better in person. She thinks he and Steve have done a fantastic job with the ornaments.

Bucky feels himself blush. “Thanks, Nat. But next year you can help make some decorations too.”

Tap, tap.

She wants him to tell her about the ornaments and how they’d made them.

“Rogers already told you all that.”

She wants to hear it again.

“Alright, you pick an ornament and I’ll tell you the secret behind its creation.”

Guiding his hand to the tree, their hands brush past soft needles until they reach a small square paper ornament. He rubs his fingers over the small pin pricks on it until he determines it’s a star shape.

“Oh, this one’s neat. See, I used a stencil, but I used a small star stencil to make the small star in the center with the small pin pricks, and then I used a bigger one around it. You can feel the two different stars.”

He feels her fingers mingling with his own, feeling the paper square.

As she guides their hands to another ornament, Bucky feels a third hand join them. He releases the ornament he was holding and touches the new hand. He finds Steve’s leather bracelet.

“Hey, Rogers. I’m telling Nat the secrets behind our tree ornaments. I hope the details weren’t classified.”

Steve spells out ‘ha ha’ on his palm.

Bucky goes back to the tree and finds one of the subway ornaments. He can feel it has the number ‘5’ on it. “This is one of the ornaments Steve bought at the transit museum. See, each one’s got the letter or number of a train line on it. This one’s the 5 train.”

She asks him about a few other ornaments, then he wraps his arm around her waist, letting her admire their tree. He feels Steve’s arm touch his own as he wraps his arm around Natasha too.

Bucky presses a kiss against Natasha’s cheek. “Next year, you’ll have your own ornaments on the tree. And don’t worry about work. We’ll do Christmas whenever you get home. Dates on the calendar don’t mean nothing.”

He feels her turning towards him and pressing her face into his neck, her arms winding around his waist. He can feel her jaw is clenched and her hands are clutching his sweater.

Rubbing her back, he smiles into her hair. “Gotta have the whole family together for Christmas, don’t we? Rogers and I goofed this time around cause we’re old and silly twits. But we ain’t gonna goof next year, I promise you that.”

*             *             *

The hours fly by way too quickly, which always happens when the three of them are together. They watch some TV, Natasha helps Steve cook dinner, and after dinner they play a game. Once Natasha wins—because of course she wins—they cuddle on the couch, with Bucky in the middle and chat about whatever comes into their heads, with Steve and Natasha taking turns interpreting for Bucky.

Natasha gets unusually clingy as the evening goes on. Bucky loves cuddling anyone who wants to be cuddled and he loves that Nat feels comfortable enough to drape herself over his right side, her chin resting on his shoulder, but it’s unusual for her to maintain physical contact with him for so long. He thinks she’s probably a bit glum about not having had a good Christmas. It must be weird to be sitting directly across from their Christmas tree for hours.

When he thinks about how she’ll eventually have to leave their warm, comfortable, pine-scented apartment and go out into the cold to go back to her gloomy and impersonal SHIELD quarters, he struggles to hide his distasteful facial expression. He wonders if she’d like to stay over. He knows she doesn’t have anything planned for tomorrow, and it would be so nice to spend tomorrow with her too.

As soon as Natasha gets up to use the bathroom, Bucky waits until he thinks she no longer has an eye-line to his hand, and then he’s frantically groping for Steve’s hand. He smacks into it mid-air, and they both grab each other’s hands, both pushing and shoving. What the hell is Rogers doing??

Finally, Bucky realizes they’re both trying to spell things to each other at the same time. Shit. They don’t have time for this! They need to talk quickly before Natasha gets back. Swallowing a chuckle, Bucky smacks Steve in the chest, but Steve jostles his hand hard, flattens it on his thigh and quickly starts spelling.

‘Do we want to ask Nat to stay overnight?’

Bucky can’t catch the amused snort before it’s out. He taps, taps, taps Steve’s hand. Looks like he and Steve are on the same page.

Seconds later, Steve is spelling out ‘N-A-T’ on his hand, probably indicating that she’s coming back.

Sure enough, the couch dips on his right side and then Natasha is curling up against him again.

“Hey, Nat? You’re welcome to stay the night, if you want. No pressure, no weirdness, but the couch is yours if you want it.”

He feels her freeze. Then she asks if he’s sure he—

He curls his fingers, stopping the rest of the words.

“Our home is your home, Nat. That’s the way it is, and that don’t just mean we’re happy to have you here during the day. The couch is comfortable and it has your name on it whenever you want it. You don’t ever gotta ask or worry about inconveniencing us. You’re family and that means you’re never an inconvenience.”

Steve’s chin is propped on his left shoulder and it starts shifting around. Steve’s probably talking. Bucky doesn’t have to know what he’s saying. He knows they’re on the same page.

Finally, Natasha taps his hand and then squeezes it tight. Bucky smiles and pulls her hand close so he can kiss it. “You can stay as long as you want. You know I’m happiest when I have lots of people to cuddle.”

*             *             *

That night, Bucky grabs Steve’s hand as soon as they’re in bed. He asks him if he’s noticed that Natasha seemed clingier than normal. She also seemed less enthusiastic when she was telling Bucky about work-related things.

Steve taps his hand and tells him he noticed the same things. He reminds Bucky that Natasha hasn’t really seen a stable, long-term relationship like theirs played out so close to her. The fact that they’re very tactile with each other has probably made her crave similar affection, which she rarely gets in her day-to-day life.

Bucky flips their hands around and tells him that the fact that they’ve made her part of their family without really asking her about it might also be strange to her. The two of them are used to close-knit family units, from their experience being raised by Mrs. R and being around Bucky’s sisters, to being close to all their neighbors, and then the Howling Commandos. Natasha does a lot of solo missions and due to her position as a supervisor, even if she’s with a team, she’s mostly the senior agent in the mix.

Bucky asks Steve if he’s sure Natasha was okay with everything, or should he back off a little? His disabilities require a lot of physical contact with the people he’s communicating with, but he’s worried that sometimes he’s coming on a bit too strong.

Steve rubs his hand. He can tell that Natasha is as comfortable with Bucky as she is with him. He points out that Bucky will know if Natasha doesn’t feel comfortable with anything.

Bucky flips their hands around again. Is Steve sure she felt comfortable about staying? He hadn’t felt any hesitation or tension, but…

Steve rubs his hand again. He points out that her body language is probably more honest than her words or her facial expressions. And he knows she’s comfortable enough around them to let them know—verbally or non-verbally—if she’s not feeling comfortable.

*             *             *

Natasha stays for four days. By day two, she’s settled in so comfortably that Steve and Bucky no longer worry about treating her like a guest or finding ways to entertain her. They go for walks, play games and watch television. On day two, she goes with them for grocery shopping and buys some of her favourite cereal—which gets its special place in the cupboard—and on day three, she borrows a pair of clean shorts and an extra swim shirt from Bucky and joins them at the pool for a swim.

She uses one of their spare toothbrushes and keeps it in the cup with Steve’s toothbrush, and Bucky re-organizes the bathroom so they have three separate sets of towels hanging up.

Eventually, she has to go back to SHIELD headquarters to prepare for a new mission. Bucky can tell that she’s not very enthusiastic about it, but she’s going with a team of junior agents, so she doesn’t want to leave them in someone else’s hands.

Steve and Bucky escort her outside to her hackie and make her promise to call as soon as she’s back home. She hugs Bucky a lot tighter than she usually does, which Bucky takes as an invitation to squeeze her tight and kiss her on the cheek, telling her to be safe. Then he lightly smacks her on the hip.

“Now hurry up and get outta here. The faster you go, the faster you can come back. And next time, bring your swimsuit with you. We’ll make permanent space in the closet for it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who have been wondering about the progress of Steve’s textured horse painting, we’ll find out how he’s doing in the next chapter.


	50. Chapter 50

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, we’ll see how Steve’s textured painting is going, and there’s some smutty goodness too!

Today’s the day Steve’s going to put his finishing touches on his galloping horse texture painting and show it to Bucky. It’s finally time for Bucky to get his Christmas present.

He’s been working on it for several weeks, doing small portions at a time. Once Bucky had made it clear that he didn’t care when Steve finished it, some of the pressure had faded and he’d been able to take his time to really get things right.

The first part was easy. He’d primed his canvas and then sketched the same picture he’d made all those weeks ago which had led to his new artistic adventure. He doesn’t bother adding too many details in pencil, but he’s got the rough shape of the horse, the sun in the corner and the boundary between the grass and the sky.

He got too nervous about starting with the horse, so he started with the sun instead.

He does as much as he can with the paste, but there are certain things which he feels more comfortable using specific textured items for. He practiced doing a sun a bunch of different ways, but he could never get the rays ‘emitting’ properly. So he’d decided to do the main part of the sun with paste, and he stuck frayed pieces of rope into the edges. He’d roughly hacked at the frayed edges so some bits were longer than others, and when he pressed them into the paste, they nicely spread out. It creates the illusion of the rays being emitted from the sun.

Steve hopes.

He makes most of the clouds with paste and adds thin wisps of pulled-apart cotton fluff to add to the texture.

The grass is more difficult. He considers using real plant material, but that doesn’t work well. The texture of dried grass is so different from the feel of fresh grass, which is what he’s trying to achieve. At the end, he decides he likes how the dried paste feels. He uses a small palette knife—he has a range of different sizes now—and applies the paste in small, rough strokes. He goes in with a sharper painting knife and adjusts some of the strokes—making some thinner, and bending others to give the grass a rougher, more disorganized look.

He has to wait until the grass is dry before he adds a final layer of texture into the grass. He uses a sharp kitchen knife—which now lives amongst his painting supplies—to cut thin lines into the dry paste. He rubs his fingers over it from time to time to check the results. He carves some lines deeper and leaves other shallower to create different depths. If he messes up some of the lines or cuts too deeply for his liking, he smooths a thin layer paste back over it to cover his mistakes. Once it dries again, he can try again. If he really screws up, he can use the rougher sandpaper or even some of his wood-working tools to grind off layers of paste. It’s a relief that his new art technique also comes with an ‘eraser’.

Then he’s left with the horse.

He does it in stages, practicing each section one by one and adding them to the canvas one small piece at a time. Most of the horse is made out of a thick layer of paste—thick enough to clearly put the entire horse in the fore-front of the flatter sky in the background. Once the horse’s body paste is dry, he gently rubs different types of sandpaper over it to give it the smooth feel of fur.

He makes the nostril and lips by making a ridge outline with paste, and once it dries, he uses a knife to carve out more paste and give it more definition. He makes the mane and tail using the same techniques as he did with the grass, but it takes a lot more time since he wants to really show the individual strands streaming in the wind as the horse runs. He ends up having to smooth out the paste a bunch of times until he’s happy with how it looks.

The horse’s eye is made up of one of the dot stickers that Bucky uses on different things around the apartment. Steve dabs some paste on the bottom and top edges of it to create eyelids.

The horse’s hooves give him some pause. He doesn’t just want to use paste, so he ends up using small pieces of smooth shells from Bucky’s art kit which he shapes with his wood-cutting tools.

The only good thing about Bucky not being able to see Steve’s art is that he no longer has to go to extreme lengths to hide pieces he’s working on if they’re meant to be a surprise for Bucky. Now, he leaves the canvas propped up on the easel in the art corner and Bucky has no idea what’s on it.

That was a very, very strange feeling the first day. Steve had finished working on it and then he’d thought about how to drape a cloth over it without smudging the paste but ensuring the canvas was hidden from Bucky’s view—and then he remembered that he doesn’t need to do anything to keep it hidden.

It’s still a strange feeling to leave something standing in plain sight and know that Bucky has no idea what it looks like. Bucky’s told him that he doesn’t want to make a mess, and he especially doesn’t want to damage any of Steve’s work, so he stays away from the art corner unless Steve brings him over.

And now finally, Steve thinks he’s ready for Bucky to finally see it.

He takes a few steps back to see how the whole thing looks from further back…

…and it actually _looks_ pretty terrible.

It’s almost completely white, except for the small shells, and unless the light is shining on it in a certain way, it’s not possible to see the depths and textures which Steve has so carefully applied to the white paste.

Honestly, it just looks like a child threw handfuls of white paste onto a canvas.

Steve knows that’s an illusion. He’s so accustomed to getting his main sensory input from his eyes that he still automatically judges something on how it looks, rather than other characteristics.

But when Steve closes his eyes and touches it, he thinks it looks damn good. In order to make it more visually appealing for himself, Steve is going to paint it later so he can appreciate it as much as Bucky (hopefully) will.

But first, he wants to show it to Bucky.

He’s checked it over a million times—gently running his hands over it while his eyes are closed, checking to see if there’s any adjustments he should still make. Today, he’s finally happy with it, which means it’s time for Bucky to finally see his Christmas present.

Steve pulls off his painting shirt and hurries to the bathroom to wash his hands and face. Once he’s done, he goes to the kitchen where Bucky’s putting clean dishes into the cupboards.

“Buck, I’m done!” Steve’s vibrating with excitement, but Bucky’s in the middle of carrying a small stack of plates from the drying rack to the cupboard, so now is not the time to grab him, or to push the motion sensor button and startle him.

Steve stays out of the kitchen, bouncing on his heels and wishing the dishes would fly themselves into the cupboards. He watches Bucky slowly put the plates on the counter and find the correct cupboard by feel. He opens the door, feels inside to verify that he’s in the right place, then carefully takes the first plate and slowly lifts it into the cupboard, using the back of his hand to feel for the edge of the cupboard and the other plates.

Steve is ready to explode with excitement, but there’s no way he’s interrupting Bucky when he’s working on tasks like this, so he waits, vibrating and trying to remember to breathe.

Bucky puts the plate in the right spot, gives it a little nudge to make sure it’s stacked properly, then he goes to find the second plate.

He misjudges where he’s left it, and lays his hand on the counter about an inch to the left of the plate. He moves his hand to the left, carefully feeling for the plate—while putting more and more distance between himself and the plate.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Steve breathes out. “Stupid plate! Just move to where Buck thinks you are! We’ve got a painting to look at!”

Steve curls his hands around the edge of the counter, forcing himself to stay put.

Bucky’s frown deepens the further he moves to the left. He narrows his eyes and tilts his head—obviously starting to suspect that he’s missed the plate. When his fingers brush the edge of the sink, Steve can see the annoyed purse of his lips as he realizes his mistake.

“Oh, shit! I completely missed it. Great job, Barnes,” he grumbles to himself, changing course and moving back to the right, his hand carefully sweeping over the counter and searching for the plate.

“It’s okay, Buck. You’re doing so good. I wish you’d be done already, but you know you’ve got all the time in the world, buddy.” Steve lets out a deep breath and watches Bucky slowly feel along the counter until he finally finds the plate.

Having missed the plate has frazzled him—Steve knows how annoyed Bucky gets at himself when he makes a mistake like that—and he ends up hitting his hand and the plate against the bottom of the cupboard door when he’s lifting it up.

He lets out a curse, but doesn’t drop the plate. He’s moving slowly enough that he hasn’t hurt himself—he’s just annoyed.

Finally—finally!—he finds the right spot and puts the plate down. He nudges it, tests it, then carefully closes the cupboard door.

He heads back to the drying rack to grab something else, but Steve has waited long enough. He pushes his motion sensor button on his armband.

Bucky freezes the second he feels the vibration. He looks over to the art corner. “I’m coming!”

Steve hates startling him and avoids doing it whenever possible, but he can’t contain his excitement any longer. He steps up to Bucky and gently touches his hand. He can feel Bucky tense and his quick intake of breath at the unexpected touch, but Bucky quickly finds the leather bracelet on Steve’s wrist. He rubs his fingers over it and Steve can see him relax again.

“Hey, Stevie! You done painting for the day?”

“I ain’t just done for the day, Buck. I’m done the horse picture!”

“Finished? You mean, you finished another part, or you’re done done?”

Steve brings Bucky’s hand to his face so Bucky can feel his huge grin.

That makes Bucky smile too. “You must be done done! Can I see it?”

“Obviously!” Steve taps his hand multiple times.

Bucky holds out his hand. “Alright, take me to see your masterpiece!”

Steve leads him to his painting corner and unclips the rope separating it from the rest of the living room. He brings Bucky right up to the canvas. Bucky looks really excited, but he also looks nervous.

Steve’s nervous too. He knows they’re both worried that Bucky might not recognize any part of the painting.

“Don’t worry, Buck,” Steve mutters without spelling his words for Bucky. “I’ll tell you what everything is, and even if I can tell that you can’t recognize it, I’ll let you pretend that it’s good.”

Instead of telling Bucky any of that, he takes his hand and asks him if he’s ready to see his Christmas present.

“I’ve been ready since you started working on it. Tell me what I’m about to see before you show it to me, okay?”

He taps Bucky’s hand. He spells out ‘sun’ on his palm and then brings his hand up to the corner where the sun is. Bucky gently lets his fingers drift over the sun, touching the textured center made from paste and the frayed rope representing the emitting rays.

Bucky’s frowning in concentration and his eyes are vacantly staring at the center of the canvas, but within seconds, the frown turns into a smile. “Oh, this is definitely a sun! This is great! I love the rope things you used. I can actually see the sun shining!”

Steve is grinning, a happy glow in his chest. He shows Bucky the clouds and the grass, and both times, Bucky loves the different textures and reassures Steve that he can tell exactly what he’s looking at.

That just leaves the main part of the painting.

“Okay, Buck. Here we go. I really hope the horse feels like a horse.”

He brings Bucky’s hand to the horse. He asks him if he wants to be told what each part is, but Bucky shakes his head. “No, let me try. I know you did a good job on this.”

Steve nervously watches Bucky’s fingers as they start exploring the horse. He traces the outline of it, following the curved edge of the entire horse. Once he’s fully traced the outline, he moves slower, exploring the different parts. His fingers skim from the nose and the mouth, up to the eyes, ears and along the flowing mane and neck to the main body and down the streaming tail and each of the legs to the hooves.

Steve is hoping for at least a little smile, but Bucky’s face is completely blank. It’s the look he gets when he’s concentrating so hard that he doesn’t even have the extra focus to frown. His fingers continue gently drifting over the horse, spending more time in certain areas where Steve has applied more texture, and using different fingers to compare textures in different parts.

Finally Bucky makes a sound.

It’s a little gasp.

His eyes are shimmering.

“Steve. Jesus Christ—Steven Grant Rogers, this…this is…”

Steve braces himself. He has no idea what words will finish that sentence.

Bucky shakes his head like he has no idea what to say. There’s finally an expression on his face—and it’s one of pure awe. His fingers are still gently drifting over the horse, rubbing and feeling different parts.

“Steve—” Bucky shakes his head again. “I—Jesus, I don’t know what to say. This is the most amazing thing I’ve ever touched. This is—do you know how _fantastic_ this is? Do you know how _incredible_ this is?”

Steve pulls his hand off the canvas. “So you can tell it’s a horse?” He asks him.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Can I tell it’s a horse? It almost feels like I’m touching a real horse! This ain’t a painting, this is—this is like a real-life photograph. No, it ain’t a photograph—I—I ain’t explaining it right cause I don’t know the words, but this is amazing. Steven Grant Rogers—this—”

He turns towards Steve and gropes through the air, finding Steve’s shirt. He runs his hand up his chest to Steve’s face. He presses their foreheads together. “This is the most incredible thing you’ve made in your entire life and I can’t believe I’m lucky enough to be the first to see it.”

A huge grin covers Steve’s face and he realizes he’s blushing from the praise. He’s used to Bucky complimenting his art, but not like this. He presses his lips together, feeling overwhelmed.

Bucky smiles when his fingers brush over Steve’s lips, knowing what he’s feeling. He kisses Steve on the lips. “You are an incredibly talented man and I’m so grateful that you’re using those talents to let me see your art again.”

He pulls Steve into his arms and wraps his arm tightly around his back. “Thank you. You didn’t have to learn how to do this whole new painting thing, and I know you started it just for me, but I hope you realize that this ain’t just slapping paste on a board. This is something amazing and I’m so proud of you.” He kisses Steve’s neck. “This is definitely going into the best spot in the art gallery,” he says.

That makes Steve smile even wider and he buries his face in Bucky’s shoulder, his throat tight. He realizes he’s shaking a bit. He’s feeling a little overwhelmed. He’s so happy and so proud of himself and he feels like he could burst into tears.

This is amazing on so many levels.

Bucky likes his Christmas present.

Steve can help Bucky appreciate art again.

Bucky could recognize all of the things Steve had shaped out of paste, rope and shells. He’s used to being able to create whatever he wants with a pencil, but knowing that Bucky appreciates the quality of his work using this new method is too great for words.

Bucky must feel him trembling and he tightens his arm around Steve. “I’m so proud of you and I love you so much for doing this for me. Thank you.”

Steve mumbles a choked “You’re welcome” against Bucky’s shoulder.

“And your ma would be—she’d—she wouldn’t have the words either. She’s been watching you this whole time and I know she’s so proud of you. I know she’d agree that this one’s definitely going into the best spot in the art gallery.” Bucky pulls back a bit. “But I hope you ain’t just doing this for me. You do like it, don’t you?”

Steve nods frantically and taps Bucky’s back where he’s still got his arms around him. “Of course I do, Buck. It was real hard at first, but I’m getting the hang of it.”

Bucky smiles and pulls him close and finds his lips for a kiss. “You know, I’ve been struggling with putting my feelings about this whole thing into words. I’m thinking I’ll have much better luck showing you instead.”

Steve smiles. The change of topic helps calm him down a bit. He pulls Bucky’s hand off his hip so he can spell. “You gonna be showing me in the bedroom?”

Bucky smirks. “You bet. Lead the way.”

Taking him to bed, Bucky does his best to show Steve how much the painting means to him.

Bucky undresses him and gives him a push so he lies back on the bed. Steve’s a little tired and he’s still a bit overwhelmed, so it’s really nice to just lie back and let Bucky take control. Bucky crawls over him and nudges his face with his nose. “What do you want, sweetheart?”

Steve spells out ‘slow and sweet’ and Bucky instantly smiles that fond, half-smile that’s full of love and affection. “You got it.”

Steve sighs happily and relaxes, sprawling on the mattress and letting Bucky take over.

Just like he’d requested, Bucky is slow and sweet. He straddles Steve’s waist and worships every inch of Steve’s body, placing gentle kisses all over him and letting his fingers drift over him with the same gentle reverence he’d shown the painting. He lets Steve’s arousal build slowly, letting him enjoy the build-up.

His neck is nuzzled and kissed and Bucky traces his collar bones with his nose and kisses his way down his chest. His hand drifts over his chest, searching for his nipples. When he finds one, Bucky grins. “There you are,” he mutters, rubbing his fingers over it.

Arousal tingles up Steve’s spine and he lets out a moan. “Oh, that feels go—”

“Get a hand on me, sweetheart. I can’t tell how you’re feeling. I can tell how your nipple’s doing, but not how you’re doing.”

Steve brings his hand down to clutch Bucky’s wrist, squeezing gently.

Bucky grins. “That feels good, don’t it?”

Steve taps, taps, taps Bucky’s wrist. “You—Jesus—you know I do.”

“You like having your nips played with, huh? I know you do.” He leans down, kissing across Steve’s chest to where his fingers are gently tugging on the nipple. It’s stiffened into a peak and Bucky finds it with his tongue, slowly flicking his tongue over it, sending sparks racing through Steve.

“Oh, fuck,” Steve breathes out, tightening his grip on Bucky’s wrist and digging his other hand into the pillow. He’s hard now, his cock rubbing against Bucky’s ass as his hips start shifting.

Bucky keeps up the slow pace, flicking his tongue against the nipple, then sucking it into his mouth and gently tugging on it with his lips. When he’s satisfied with that one, he kisses his way across Steve’s chest to the other one and goes through the same slow, spine-tingling process.

Steve’s trembling and thrusting his cock against Bucky’s ass. He doesn’t know what he wants more: to keep Bucky’s mouth on his nipples forever or to get his cock some attention.

He’s about to signal Bucky that he’s had enough of the teasing, but Bucky knows him too well to need the signal. Bucky sits up, rubbing his ass against Steve’s cock. “Oh, you’re ready to go now, huh? I know you are. Give me a second, I need to get situated.”

He gets off Steve, shuffles further down, feels along Steve’s legs and pelvis until he finds his cock. “There’s what I’m looking for,” he says, shifting closer to Steve and nudging his legs out of the way. Steve moves his limbs the way Bucky needs them, and once Bucky’s satisfied, he gives his cock a long pull, licks his lips, leans over and swallows him down.

“Jesus!” Steve groans. Bucky closes his eyes, his arm braced on Steve’s hips, his lips sliding up and down Steve’s cock. Before Steve forgets—and risks Bucky pulling his lips off his cock to remind him—he grabs Bucky’s hand, squeezing it.

As soon as Steve squeezes with his hand to signal his enjoyment, Bucky tightens his lips on Steve’s cock, sending a jolt of pleasure through him.

“Oh, my God damn, fuck…”

It’s slow and wet and hot, and arousal coils tighter in Steve’s belly.

Steve loses track of time, letting the tingling heat seep over him. His hips are thrusting a bit, pushing his cock deeper into Bucky’s mouth.

He barely realizes he’s about to tip over the edge until he’s already coming. Bucky pulls back a bit and swallows, gently sucking until he knows Steve is too sensitive for it to still feel good. He pulls off and shuffles closer on his knees, grinning and his chin covered in cum.

He runs his hand along Steve’s body, finds his chest and then his face and traces Steve’s open, gasping mouth. “I think you feel about one tenth of how amazing I felt when I saw that painting, Stevie.” Bucky wipes his chin with his hand and bends down to press kisses along Steve’s face and his lips.

“You’re amazing, Buck,” Steve mumbles against his lips. “Jesus, you’re amazing and I—”

“Thank you for learning how to do something incredible so you can share your art with me again.” Bucky’s eyes are shimmering with unshed tears.

Steve wraps his arms around him and pulls Bucky down on top of him. He finds Bucky’s hand so he can talk to him. “Together til the end of the line, Buck. There ain’t nothing I wouldn’t do for you, you know that. And Merry Belated Christmas. Sorry your present was late.”

Bucky grins. “You’re forgiven. You’re so completely forgiven that I don’t even remember what it is that I’m forgiving you for.”

Steve laughs, gives Bucky a hard kiss, then rolls them over so Steve’s on top of him. He keeps kissing him, loving the taste of himself on Bucky’s tongue.

He finally pulls back and finds Bucky’s hand and asks him what he wants.

Bucky grins up at the ceiling. “What I want is an amazing person who does amazing things for me just because he loves me and wants me to be happy—and I’ve already got that. But if you’re asking what my dick wants, it definitely wants you to fuck me with your fingers.”

Steve chuckles and nips Bucky’s chin. “Wisecracker.” He presses his face against Bucky’s neck so he can feel his smile.

Bucky’s grin tells him he knows exactly how amused he is. “Hurry up and get the slick, Rogers. Let’s see if those hands of yours can impress me ever more.”

*             *             *

It takes Steve several days to paint the picture. He’s been practicing using colors and painting, but painting the picture he’d spent weeks working on is very nerve-wracking. He takes his time and does some practice runs on paper until he finally gets brave enough to start painting on the canvas.

It’s not the most beautiful thing Steve’s ever laid eyes on, but it’s pretty good for his first attempt. When it’s dry, he hangs it in the ‘best spot in the art gallery’, which Bucky has decided is in the living room, right across from the front door.

“That way, anybody who comes in will see it right away. That’s why it’s the best spot.”

The painting holds up well. Bucky’s always very careful not to apply too much pressure when he’s touching it, but both he and Steve love the fact that Bucky can walk over to the painting and look at it whenever he wants. Every time Steve sees Bucky stand by the painting and run his hand over it with that pleased smile on his face, it makes Steve feel amazing.

He’s found a way to continue sharing his art with Bucky.


	51. Chapter 51

They choose a casual family-style restaurant for their first restaurant attempt. It’s only a few blocks away from their apartment, so if things go well, Steve hopes they can make this part of their regular routine.

Once they’re through the door, they walk up to the host stand and Steve smiles at the young man standing behind the podium. He steps on Bucky’s foot and tells him about the male host waiting to greet them.

“Hello, sir,” Bucky says with a smile.

In his role as conversation coordinator, Steve has learned to let Bucky start off conversations. Once Steve has said something, then usually the person they’re talking to starts speaking, and since Steve has to listen to what’s being said, it can be difficult to give Bucky cues at the same time. If Bucky talks first, then he’s usually satisfied with waiting a while until Steve has established the flow of the conversation and gives Bucky more cues.

It’s hard and Steve still messes up a lot, but he’s getting better at steering conversations in the right rhythm and timing his cues to Bucky so that conversations flow well.

Steve greets the host too, and the host gives them both a smile. “Hello, how are we doing today?”

“We’re doing great, thanks.”

“Here for some lunch?”

“Yes, we are.”

Steve doesn’t bother telling Bucky about this small chit-chat. While he would gladly interpret every word that people say around him, Bucky doesn’t like it when conversations take too long because of Steve having to interpret. Steve does his best to judge whether a conversation is one that Bucky would want to be involved in.

“Just the two of you, sir?”

“Yes. Could we possibly get a table where we can sit beside each other?”

The young man smiles and nods. “Of course. Would you like a booth?”

“That would be great. Thanks.”

The host grabs menus from a stack on his podium. “Follow me, please.”

Steve squeezes Bucky’s hand to make him focus, tells him they’re going to their table and then walks after the host with Bucky keeping pace with him. Steve keeps a careful eye on the other tables they pass, watching for bags on the ground or people getting out of their booths. A young waitress appears around the corner, holding a tray full of glasses and Steve starts to panic a bit because there’s not enough room in the aisle for all of them, but her eyes immediately land on Bucky’s cane and she comes to a stop, letting them get to their table first.

A few steps later, the host stops by a random booth and puts the menus on the table for them.

“Thank you very much,” Steve says. He steps on Bucky’s foot twice and Bucky smiles politely and says: “Thank you. Bye.”

When the host has left, Steve helps Bucky touch the table and both of the leather seats on either side.

“Which one should I sit on, Steve?”

Steve tells him they’ll both sit together and Bucky can choose which one. Bucky carefully slides into the booth. He tentatively touches the table and explores the leather seat, which is next to a wall. Steve slides in beside him. He’s deliberately sitting on Bucky’s right side so he can talk to him easily.

It reminds Steve of when Bucky had first come home when they had eaten all of their meals like this. Back then, Steve couldn’t have imagined ever eating somewhere that wasn’t their own apartment.

Now they’re about to eat in a restaurant.

He doesn’t let himself dwell on their accomplishment for too long. He needs to stay focused so by the end of this they’ll be able to celebrate a lot more than just eating in a new location.

Steve quickly scans the table and moves the salt and pepper shakers to his own side and pushes the triangular drinks menu farther away from Bucky so he doesn’t knock it over.

“Steve, don’t take out the mat until my food gets here, okay? I don’t wanna stand out.”

“Okay.”

While Steve opens the menu, Bucky is carefully touching the table and exploring what he finds. “Why are the fork and knife wrapped up like this?”

Steve looks up from the menu and sees Bucky holding the fork and knife, which are tightly wrapped in a napkin and held closed with a strip of sticky paper. “Oh. Yeah, that must feel pretty weird, huh?”

He takes the bundle out of Bucky’s hand and tells him it’s how they keep the cutlery clean. He’s tempted to unwrap the bundle for him, but Bucky insists on doing it himself.

By the time Steve’s done reading the menu, Bucky’s untangled both of their cutlery bundles.

A smiling middle-aged woman of Middle-Eastern descent shows up at their table with a notepad in hand. She’s wearing a headscarf and a cheerful smile.

“Hello! My name is Niloufar. I’ll be your waitress today. How are you both doing? It’s a beautiful day today, isn’t it?” There’s a slight accent in her voice and Steve thinks she’s one of the cheeriest waitresses he’s ever met.

Steve steps on Bucky’s foot and pulls Bucky’s hand off the table so their hands are lying on the booth seats. He quickly spells out: ‘waitress’, ‘woman’ and ‘Niloufar’. He tries to be discreet when he stares at her nametag to spell her name properly.

Steve can see that Bucky didn’t really track her name properly, but he keeps his confusion off his face. “Good afternoon, ma’am.”

Steve smoothly steps in to cover for the fact that Bucky didn’t answer her question. “We’re fine, thank you. How are you?”

“I’m great, thank you very much. Can I get you both something to drink?”

Steve opens his mouth to place their orders, but he figures this is something Bucky can do for them. He tells him to place their drinks order.

“Do you have sprite?” Bucky asks.

Niloufar smiles at Bucky. “Yes, we do.”

Steve taps Bucky’s hand.

“Okay. Do you have coke?”

“Absolutely.”

Tap.

“I’d like one sprite for me and one coke for him, please.”

Niloufar writes the order down. She’s been speaking directly to Bucky, but Steve thinks it’s not out of politeness. Both of their hands are on the bench, so she can’t see Steve spelling on Bucky's palm. It probably seems like Bucky’s just reacting to her questions a little slowly.

“I’ll get you those drinks and I’ll give you a few minutes to look over the menu.”

“Thank you,” Steve says. He steps on Bucky’s foot twice. “Thank you! Goodbye.”

Niloufar looks a bit confused by Bucky’s last words, but her smile stays steady and she walks away.

The second she’s out of sight, Steve turns to Bucky, pride glowing in his chest. “That went great, Buck! Great job!” He spells that on Bucky’s hand, then squeezes and jostles his hand happily.

Bucky’s grinning. “Yup, we did great! What was her name again?”

Steve spells ‘Niloufar’ on his hand.

“Nee-loo-far?”

Tap, tap.

“Okay, I got it. Now hurry up and read the menu so I can decide what to eat.”

Steve is so impressed with how well Bucky’s handling this whole situation. He brushes a finger over Bucky’s cheek and gives it a quick kiss. He jostles Bucky’s cap a little bit when he leans in.

Bucky pulls back from him with a frown. He reaches up to his face and feels the sunglasses and hat on his head.

“Oh, Jesus Christ! Rogers, why didn’t you tell me I still had my hat and glasses on? Letting me sit in a nice restaurant and talk to a lady with my hat on. Jesus!” He smacks Steve in the chest and frowns in his direction.

“Sorry, sorry! I forgot too.” Steve waits until Bucky’s taken off his cap and sunglasses and then apologizes to him and tells him he was distracted by how good Bucky was doing.

Bucky shoots him a little smile. “You charmer you. Thinking your smooth talking makes everything okay.”

Steve cheekily spells out ‘doesn’t it?’ on his palm.

Bucky pulls his hand away and smacks him in the chest again. “Wisecracker. Read the menu and tell me my options. Hurry up!”

There’s a whole section of appetizers, most of which can be eaten by hand. He figures there’s no harm in taking it easy during their first restaurant outing. He asks Bucky if he wants to order stuff that can be eaten by hand…

…and Bucky wants no part of it. “I ain’t gonna eat with my hands in a nice restaurant. And neither are you. What would your ma say? Jesus Christ.”

Okay, so no finger food. Steve goes back to reading the menu. He gives Bucky several options, skipping dishes that would be very messy like tacos and spaghetti.

Bucky decides on a chicken pasta dish. “You can cut the chicken for me, yeah?”

“Stupid question, Barnes.” Steve taps his hand multiple times. He adds ‘obviously’ and ‘idiot’.

That earns him another smack and a laugh from Bucky. Steve decides on a steak with fries.

A few minutes later, Niloufar appears with their drinks. She starts putting them down before Steve can alert Steve to her presence. “Here we go. A sprite for you, sir—” She puts the glass with sprite in front of Bucky and then puts the coke in front of Steve. “—and a coke for you. Have you decided what you’re going to order?”

“Yes, we have.”

Steve steps on Bucky’s foot, who immediately puts on a smile and says: “Hello.”

Shit! Steve had meant to squeeze Bucky’s hand to get his attention, not step on his foot! Bucky’s reacting correctly to his signals—Steve’s the one messing things up by giving him wrong signals. Damn it!

Niloufar is frowning at Bucky, clearly confused.

Shit.

Steve decides that they’ve had their fun with fooling their waitress, but in order for this to not turn into an embarrassing mess, he’ll need to clarify the situation. He sticks out his hand. “We didn’t properly introduce ourselves. My name’s Steve.”

Her smile gets brighter, which Steve didn’t think was possible. “Hi, Steve. It’s nice to meet you.” They shake hands.

“This is my friend, Bucky. He’s uh—he’s deafblind so he can’t hear or see you. I apologize if you were confused; I should have said something earlier.”

Unfortunately, she looks more confused following his explanation than before. “But you heard me when I asked you what you wanted to drink.” She’s speaking directly to Bucky.

Steve admonishes himself for being an idiot. From now on, if they’re going to be talking to somebody for longer than a few minutes, Steve needs to start by explaining the situation.

Niloufar is frowning while Bucky ignores her and Steve jumps in to get them back on track. “I promise, he didn’t hear you. He didn’t hear you just now either.”

“But then how—”

“I was interpreting what you were saying on his hand.”

“Interpreting?”

“Yeah. I spell on his hand.”

A look of amazement appears on her face. “Seriously? So quickly?”

“Yeah.” That’s when Steve realizes he should include Bucky in the situation. Barnes has been his usual patient, amazing self: sitting quietly, keeping a polite smile on his face and waiting for further cues from Steve. Until Steve gives him cues, he doesn’t want to embarrass Steve by interrupting his conversation. He’s been following procedures very well, but Steve’s the one who’s not doing a great job. He realizes he hasn’t given Bucky any cues or signs since his accidental foot stepping.

“Can I—do you mind if I introduce you to him officially?”

She looks a bit wary. “What—what do you want me to do?”

“Nothing. Just follow his lead.” Steve tells Bucky to introduce himself to Niloufar.

Bucky’s smile gains more energy the second he understands the instructions. “My name’s Bucky Barnes. It’s nice to meet you, Niloufar,” Bucky says, extending his hand past Steve. Steve had been leaning forward a bit and he manages to lean back just in time before Bucky bashes him in the nose.

Niloufar and Bucky shake hands, then Steve tells Bucky to order for them.

“We’re ready to order our food, if that’s okay.”

Niloufar nods. “Sure, go ahead. Oh.” She stops and looks at Steve. “Should I talk slower so you can translate?”

Steve smiles. He doesn’t bother correcting her use of the word ‘translate’. “No, no. I might need a few extra seconds to catch up when you’re done talking, but that’s all.” He tells Bucky that he can—

“Can—can I see how you do that?” Niloufar asks, interrupting him mid-sentence.

Steve grins. “Let me ask Buck, hang on.”

Bucky smiles when Steve finishes asking him the question. He’s getting used to such requests. “Sure.” He puts his hand on the table. Steve continues his earlier sentence, deliberately stretching out his fingers and slowing his spelling a little.

Niloufar is watching his fingers, completely enthralled.

Steve struggles to keep from smiling and he can tell Bucky’s enjoying it too. It always makes them feel proud when others are amazed at how they communicate. They’re so accustomed to it now that they forget how unique their communication methods are.

He tells Bucky that he can place their order, but he might have to repeat himself because Niloufar is fascinated by their hands and might not write down their orders the first time. And because Barnes has always been a champ, he doesn’t laugh at that last part. Instead, he waits a few beats after Steve’s done spelling before he places their order.

Niloufar gives herself a little shake and re-focuses on her pad and pen, scribbling down Bucky’s order. “Okay. Anything else?”

Steve tells him to go ahead with his request.

“Could I have my food in a bowl, please?”

“Sure.” She scribbles on her pad while Steve taps on Bucky’s hand. “Would you like the chicken in a separate bowl from the pasta?”

Steve interprets.

“That would be great! Thank you, Niloufar.”

“And Steve’s steak, how would he like it?” Niloufar is speaking directly to Bucky now, her eyes still staring at their hands while Steve interprets, but while she’s speaking or listening to Bucky, her eyes are on Bucky.

It’s like Steve’s disappeared. He’s just the conduit in this conversation, moving information between Niloufar and Bucky, and that’s a great feeling.

Again it occurs to him how far they’ve come since Bucky came home from the hospital. He hadn’t even been able to communicate with Steve, and now Bucky’s talking to a stranger through Steve.

“Steve, you aren’t translating,” Niloufar says, gesturing at his hand. At the same time, Bucky frowns, kicks Steve underneath the table and jostles his hand beneath Steve’s frozen fingers.

With a start, Steve is pulled out of his musings and realizes the communication conduit is slacking and he needs to focus. “Sorry, what was the question?”

“How does Steve want his steak?” Niloufar says.

Steve dutifully relays the question to Bucky, who immediately knows the answer without waiting for Steve’s input. “He’d like it medium, please.”

They finish placing their order, thank each other and Niloufar leaves them.

The second she’s gone, Steve apologizes for losing focus like that. He tells Bucky what he’d thought about that had distracted him.

Bucky grins. “That really was neat, wasn’t it? I was talking to her and I could hear her, just like a normal conversation. I think that went great!”

Steve jostles his hand and squeezes it, pride making him grin so much, his face is starting to ache.

Bucky elbows him. “And I ain’t just proud of me, I’m proud of you too! You’re doing so good with the interpreting—when you don’t fall asleep half-way through.”

That makes some of Steve’s happiness fade, but Bucky grins at him cheekily. “Don’t you go getting mopey about that, I was kidding! Sometimes I don’t keep track of what you’re spelling either. Everybody’s allowed to drift off here and there.” He touches Steve’s face, finds his lips and pushes the corners further up, making Steve chuckle, which automatically makes his smile big again.

Bucky grins. “There we go. Now everything’s perfect. And I really am so proud of us, Stevie. Look how far we’ve come!”

Steve wraps his arm around Bucky and nuzzles his cheek. “We’re a good team, ain’t we?”

“Always and forever, Rogers.”

They can’t stop grinning throughout the entire meal, and everything goes perfectly. Steve cuts Bucky’s chicken for him, Bucky’s bowl has a nice wide rim and the non-slip matting that Steve rolls out underneath it keeps the bowl secure.

They’re feeling so comfortable and confident that Bucky orders them re-fills on their drinks and they end up getting chocolate cake for desert. After they’ve paid, Steve has Bucky tell Niloufar that they’ll be back next week at the same time.

The restaurant-eating mission was a definite success.

*             *             *

Natasha calls him two days later. “So I found a potential job for you.”

“…What?”

“He’s a former SHIELD agent and he does private security consultations. It’s a small company and they’re in Manhattan. I talked to him about you and he’s excited to meet you. I told him you’d want to work from home, and he’s fine with that. Can you meet him today at 3?”

“Uh…”

“I’ll come over and stay with Buck.”

“Nat, you don’t have to—”

“Rogers, I was really hoping you’d just say ‘thanks’ and ‘okay’, because I’m already on the bridge and I’ll be there in five minutes.”

Steve bursts out laughing and hangs up the phone to tell Bucky what’s going on.

*             *             *

Steve’s currently wearing baggy sweatpants and a Mets sweater, which is definitely not job interview attire. He has enough time to change into more presentable clothes, fix his hair and explain what’s going on to Bucky, before the intercom buzzes.

He lets Natasha in, kisses Bucky goodbye, throws on his winter clothes and runs out to jump into the hackie that Natasha had arrived in. As soon as he’s in the car, his phone’s ringing. Natasha tells him the man’s name is Jeff Stokes and he retired from SHIELD ten years ago.

“He’s one of the good guys, Steve, but he’s loyal to SHIELD, so just watch your mouth when you’re talking about SHIELD.” She pauses. Then: “You know what? Just don’t talk about SHIELD at all.”

He rolls his eyes. “I know how to stay on somebody’s good side, Romanov.”

“Yeah, until that somebody gives Bucky a mean look, then they’re on your shit list for life. Don’t let your stupid temper make a mess of this, okay?”

“Bye, Nat.” He hangs up the phone and tries to focus on the upcoming interview.

Jeff is a very nice, older man, who seems genuinely happy to see Steve.

They chit-chat about the company a bit. Mostly they do security consultations for private parties and low level clients like retail stores and hotels, so they don’t deal with many high security or government related issues.

“So, you’ve resigned from the military and SHIELD?”

Steve keeps his Captain America smile on his face. “Yes, sir. My—home situation has changed and I couldn’t keep living with a SHIELD schedule or a military schedule.”

“I see. Agent Romanov had mentioned that you wanted to work from home.”

“Yes, sir. That’s not something that’s negotiable for me. My—my situation at home is—uh—I—” He has no idea how to explain it without making Bucky seem like a helpless child. Right now, he doesn’t know this man, so he has no desire to tell him information that’s so personal. “I—I’m needed at home during the day. I can’t spend hours in an office every day.”

“Would you be able to come in for occasional meetings?”

“How—how occasional would these meetings be? And I’d need advance notice.”

“Most of your work can be done from home. Staff meetings or discussions with the team can all be done while you’re at home, but some clients prefer to have face-to-face meetings. Usually we meet with clients when we start a job and then we meet with them again to present our plan. Sometimes we have up to two meetings a week, but sometimes a month will go by without one. You’d be meeting with the clients whose projects you’re in charge of, so you’d be the one scheduling the meeting.”

“How long would be meetings take?”

“The meetings are usually two to three hours. If you show up fully prepared, you can just show up for the meeting and head home right after. As long as you communicate with the whole team, I don’t see why it wouldn’t work out. Most of the responsibility would be on your shoulders. If we have to chase you and if you’re not available or not meeting deadlines due to responsibilities at home, that wouldn’t work.”

Steve nods. “No, I understand. As long as I’m at home, I can be available.”

“Also, I want you to be aware that working from home is a privilege, not a right. We don’t cover any costs with work related expenses that you incur at home.”

“That’s fine.”

They discuss a few other things, but they both seem happy with each other. The work doesn’t seem hard and Steve knows he’s got the experience to do a good job.

By the end, Jeff agrees to hire him, putting him on a three months probationary period.

Steve officially has a job again and he’ll be bringing home paychecks again!

He calls a hackie to take him back home, very excited to share the news with both Bucky and Natasha. He intentionally doesn’t text Natasha to tell her ahead of time—he wants to share it with both of them at the same time.

He bursts through the apartment door, and both Natasha and Bucky look over from the table where they’re playing [chess](https://www.maxiaids.com/deluxe-chess-and-checkers-set).

Both of them ask: “How did it go?” at the same time, while Steve shuts the doors and toes off his shoes.

He hurries up to the table and grabs Bucky’s hand.

“I got it!” he says and spells at the same time.

Natasha grins. “Of course you did.”

Bucky’s grinning too, holding up his arm and groping through the air for Steve. When he catches his sweater, he pulls Steve onto his lap, nuzzling his face and brushing kisses over his cheek. “I’m so proud of you! I knew you could do it.”

*             *             *

Bucky can tell Steve’s happy about the interview, but he can feel he’s tense. Something’s bothering him. Bucky doesn’t bring it up until Natasha’s left. After Bucky’s finished washing dishes, he finds Steve on the couch, climbs onto his lap and makes himself comfortable.

“Hi, Stevie.”

Steve pulls Bucky’s chin closer and kisses him, his lips moving. Then he spells out: ‘Hi Buck.’

“Something’s bothering you and I’d like to know what it is. You wanna talk about it?”

Steve’s fingers on his palm don’t move.

Then:

A hesitant tap. Bucky can work with that. “Is it about the job?”

Tap.

“Do you want the job?”

Tap.

“Okay. Is there a problem with you working from home?”

Steve spells out ‘kind of’.

That clears up absolutely nothing. “Come on, talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong. We can’t fix it unless we both know what’s going on.”

Finally Steve admits that yes, he can work from home, but he’ll have to go into the office from time to time for meetings. After the explanation, Steve doesn’t remove his hand, but keeps it on Bucky’s hand, gently rubbing with his thumb.

Bucky knows what the problem is. “If you’re worried about me, don’t be. I wouldn’t like you being gone every single day, but if it’s just from time to time, we can deal with that, I know we can.”

Steve doesn’t respond. He’s still stroking Bucky’s hand.

Bucky twists his hand around Steve’s and pulls his hand to his lips. He presses a kiss to Steve’s knuckles. It’s time for a serious discussion. “Steve, listen. This is really important.”

He waits until he’s sure that Steve is paying attention. At least, he’s assuming he’s paying attention. “I love you and I’d really like to be with you for the next seventy years. I’m assuming you’re on the same page.”

Steve’s other hand has been stroking Bucky’s thigh. Now it firmly taps his thigh multiple times.

“Okay. We’re doing this for the long haul, so we can’t just think about tomorrow, but we gotta think about next week and next year. You can’t spend the next seventy years glued to my side being my caregiver.”

Steve doesn’t respond. Stubborn punk.

Fine. Bucky will push harder. “We’re gonna have a Pickerton situation on our hands if we don’t fix this. I don’t want that. You’re supposed to be my best friend and my partner. I don’t want you just being my caregiver. You’re gonna start getting annoyed and you’re gonna start resenting me—maybe not today, but it’ll happen slow, so slow that you won’t even realize—and then one day that resentment is gonna start turning to hate, and there’s no coming back from that. I don’t want that. I know you don’t either.”

Rub, rub, rub. Steve tells him that he definitely doesn’t want that.

“So we gotta figure out how we can be comfortable with you leaving me home alone for a few hours. We need to have more space from each other. We’ve always gotten along well, but I want us spending time together because we want to, not because we can’t be apart because you’re worried about me. And by the way, us figuring it out can’t involve Nat babysitting me. She’s family and we both love her, and using her to babysit me is a quick way to destroy all that. When she comes over, I want it to be because we all wanna spend time together as a family, not because you need to rush out for five minutes and I can’t be left by myself.”

Tap.

Steve tells him he’s worried about Bucky’s safety if he’s left home alone. Bucky’s ability to assess and respond to problems in the apartment is very limited.

“I know. I thought about that too. We’ll have to figure it out. There’s no way that all deafblind people in the world have somebody living with them 24 hours a day. Let’s turn on these brains of ours and come up with a list of problems and then we’ll work on finding solutions. We can do this, Stevie. I know we can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I'd love to hear what you thought about Steve and Bucky's restaurant adventure and Steve's new job!


	52. Chapter 52

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boys address one of the safety issues related to leaving Bucky home alone, Bucky does some cane maintenance, and Steve has bit of a rough therapy session.

One of Steve’s biggest fears is Bucky not being able to evacuate the building in time if there’s a fire. Bucky can’t hear the smoke alarm so he probably wouldn’t know that the building’s on fire until it’s too late for him to get out of the apartment safely.

Steve asks Natasha for help, and they manage to connect the apartment’s smoke alarm to Bucky’s motion sensor. The hard part is having Bucky evacuate the apartment in a decent time, so they practice.

A lot.

Since Bucky no longer needs his cane in the apartment, but he needs it for going outside, they hang the unfolded cane by the door so Bucky can grab it during emergencies. A spare set of keys are hung right next to the cane.

To start the drill, Steve activates the smoke alarm just long enough to trigger Bucky’s detector. That’s Bucky’s cue to put down whatever he’s doing and make his way to the door. He has to put on his boots, grab his cane, grab the spare keys and make his way out the door, down the hall and down the outside stairs.

It takes him nearly ten minutes to do it when he isn’t stressed and nervous—but knowing he has to hurry has the unfortunate effect of slowing him down even further—making his hand clumsy and messing up his mental map of the apartment and the hallway.

One day, they practice three times, and each time, Bucky gets worse.

On the third attempt, he grabs one of his own boots and one of Steve’s, he bumps into the door three times because he keeps forgetting he hasn’t opened it, and once he’s in the hallway, he trips on Steve’s laces, gets turned around and heads down the wrong way in the hallway.

When Steve catches up to him and points out his mistakes, Bucky is close to tears.

“I didn’t even remember my cane or the keys! Jesus Christ! A two year old _child_ could do this better than me. This is pathe—.”

Steve covers Bucky’s mouth with his hand to stop the cruel words. “Hey, hey, hey. Quit with that baloney.” He squeezes Bucky’s hand and pulls him into his arms, rubbing his back and trying to sooth him. When Bucky’s calmed down a bit, Steve reminds him that he managed most of the steps and that’s worth celebrating. They’ll get there eventually. He knows Bucky can do it.

“Well, your confidence in me ain’t making me any faster, is it?! It sure ain’t doing me any good! This is stupid and I’m done practicing for today.” Smacking away Steve’s hand, he heads back towards the apartment—only, he’s lost track of where he is, so he’s fumbling at their neighbor’s door knob, not their own.

Steve sighs. “Buck, that’s the wrong door. I—Jesus…” He gently grabs Bucky’s arm.

Bucky frowns at Steve’s interruption and tries to shake him loose. “Leave me along, Rogers! I can—” Bucky’s voice trails off as Steve tightens his hand on his arm and drags him one door to the left, not wanting to prolong this whole thing by explaining what had happened and making Bucky wander around the hallway out of stubbornness, trying to find their door. When he’s upset and not orienting himself properly, it takes him forever to get where he wants to go, which usually makes him even more upset.

Bucky’s jaw clenches even tighter when he realizes his mistake. He fumbles at the door and it swings open, verifying that he’d been trying to open the wrong door. Glaring, he stomps inside.

Dodging around Bucky, Steve stays out of his way, taking off his boots in the kitchen.

Bucky is quiet and upset for a few hours, angry with himself. When his mood doesn’t seem to fade on its own, Steve sits down next to him on the couch. “You ain’t being fair to yourself, Buck. I know people who have both arms and functional eyes and ears would have been slower than—”

Bucky rips his hand out of his grasp and glares at the far wall. “That’s baloney and you know it! Even other deafblind people could do this faster, I’m sure. I just can’t focus because I’m an idiot.”

“Hey!” Steve grabs Bucky’s hand and gives it a good shake. He tells him to quit saying nasty things about himself or Steve’s gonna get into a snit too.

Bucky makes a face. “Sorry. I’m just annoyed.”

“I know you are. And I know this is hard, but I know you can do it. Deafblind people have always managed to do amazing things and you’re no different.”

Bucky scoffs. “Right.”

“I’m serious! Deafblind people can go to college and travel the world and do other amazing things.”

“Name me one deafblind person who has ever gone to college.”

That’s easy. “Helen Keller.”

“Huh? Who?”

It doesn’t surprise Steve that Helen’s name isn’t familiar to Bucky. He hadn’t recognized her name either but he’s come across her name from time to time during his research, so he’d read up a little bit about her and watched some of her old videos. Even though Helen was apparently a big deal back in their day, they hadn’t had steady access to news sources back then, so it never surprises Steve when he comes across something that he should be familiar with but isn’t.

“You want me to tell you about Helen?”

Bucky shrugs, but he curls up against Steve and puts his hand on Steve’s thigh so he can spell. That’s as good of a confirmation as Steve’s going to get from him right now. Steve rubs Bucky’s back with his left hand and uses his right hand to spell. He grabs his phone from the coffee table and pulls up some basic information about Helen. He tells him her name was Helen Keller and she was born in 1880 in Alabama.

Bucky snuggles into Steve’s sweater. “So she was around back in our day?

Tap. “Yeah, she was.”

“Tell me more.”

Steve is happy that Bucky is distracted from his earlier snit, so he starts telling Bucky about Helen. “She wasn’t born deafblind but she lost her sight and hearing when she was almost two years old.”

Bucky frowns. “So how—how did she learn things? How’d she learn to talk? I know how to talk because I’ve been doing it my whole life.”

“It took a very long time, Buck. She had a teacher, Annie Sullivan, who taught her how to understand the manual alphabet and how to talk.”

“She used the manual alphabet?”

“Yeah. It was a different version from the one we use today, but same idea. I guess she used an old-fashioned one.” He’s watched videos of Annie Sullivan and others using some kind of manual alphabet to communicate with Helen, but Steve hadn't recognized any of the symbols.

“Tell me more.”

He tells Bucky the techniques which Annie had used to teach Helen, how Helen went to college and was the first deafblind person to earn a Bachelor of Arts degree. She was a huge advocate for people with disabilities and also women’s rights and labor rights. She travelled the world giving speeches, wrote articles which were published in newspapers and authored several books.

There are some aspects of Helen’s life that Steve doesn’t quite agree with—her rampant support of eugenics being one of them—so he skips over those things. He sticks to the positive points, and Bucky’s smile gets bigger the more he hears about her.

“It must have been tough for her to do all those things. It must have taken a long time and lots of effort.”

“Yeah, Buck, I’m sure it did. But she kept practicing and worked really hard and because of all that, she was a really independent lady despite being deafblind.”

Bucky chews on his lip. “Is this your not-so subtle way of saying I should keep practicing?”

Steve smiles and pulls Bucky close. He brushes his nose against Bucky’s cheek, kisses him and presses his face against Bucky’s so he can feel Steve’s smile. “What do you think, jerk?”

Bucky sighs loudly and dramatically, but he’s smiling. “Alright. If Helen can travel around the world, then I can learn how to get myself out of the apartment in a decent time without falling on my face.” Bucky takes a deep breath. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”

*             *             *

By the next morning, Bucky declares that he wants to try the fire drill again, but they have to go slower. Like they’ve done many times before, they slow down and take things one step at a time.

They practice having Bucky locate and put on his boots faster and faster.

Then they practice having Bucky unlock the door and get down the hallway.

After a few days, they start combining the steps. Steve stays by Bucky’s side the entire time, ready to squeeze his hand and calm him if he starts getting too worked up to focus.

A week after they’ve started, Bucky declares he’s ready to practice without prior warning and without Steve’s help. Steve waits until they’ve finished dinner—if Bucky does badly, the resulting snit will make him avoid dinner and Steve doesn’t want him going to bed hungry—and triggers the smoke alarm.

Bucky feels the distinct vibration immediately. He puts down his fork, gets up from the table and hurries to the door, stepping into his boots one foot at a time. He does a quick pull on each of the elastic coil laces, grabs the keys and stuffs them into his pocket, then he grabs his cane.

Steve slowly stands from the table, keeping one eye on his watch and the other on Bucky.

Bucky flips the deadbolt and pulls the door open. He steps through, pauses for a moment to orient himself and heads down the hallway, moving towards the door.

Steve steps into his own shoes and hurries after him. He reaches Bucky right when he’s going through the door.

There’s a Hispanic teenage girl who had entered the building just before Bucky had gone out. She’s standing against the wall, watching Bucky. Steve passes her, shooting her a polite a smile as he goes, ducks through the door and hops down the stairs to get ahead of Bucky. 

Bucky’s already found the railing, folded up his cane and is making his way down the stairs. When he’s reached the sidewalk, he unfolds his cane and moves to the side so he’s not standing directly below the stairs.

The drill is done.

Bucky’s frowning, still in full concentration mode. “How did I do?”

Steve checks his watch and blinks in surprise. Bucky did very well. Very, _very_ well.

That’s exactly what he tells him.

Bucky’s face erupts in a grin. “Really? I did good?”

Steve’s grin is mirroring his. He presses his forehead against Bucky’s. He taps Bucky’s back multiple times. “Yes, you did, Buck. You did really good. Really, really good.”

They’re both pleased, but it’s really cold outside and neither of them are wearing anything warmer than their sweaters. They make their way up the stairs and Steve opens the door for Bucky.

He notices the teenage girl is opening the door of the apartment two doors down from theirs. She stares at them. “What are you guys doing?”

“Fire drill,” Steve says, trailing along behind Bucky, who’s confidently making his way down the hallway. The teenage girl is standing right in his path and Steve doesn’t have time to warn her before Bucky’s cane smacks into her legs.

Bucky freezes, not accustomed to having anything there.

“Uh, what is this?” He smacks her legs a few more times with his cane. Steve struggles not to laugh when she lets out a “What the hell?” and hops away to the other side of the hallway.

Bucky seems just as confused by the disappearance of the obstacle as he’d been with its appearance.

Steve’s still trying not to laugh. “Sorry about that.”

“Steve, what was that?”

Steve tells him it was a person.

“Oh. I’m very sorry about that, sir. Please, excuse me.” With that, he continues down the hallway.

She doesn’t look impressed. “That was rude. And I’m not a sir.”

Steve smiles. “He didn’t bump into you on purpose. He can’t see and he can’t hear so he’s doing the best he can. And at least he apologized. How was he supposed to know you’re a ma’am and not a sir?”

“Whatever.” She’s staring at Steve more than Bucky now. “You’re Captain America,” she says.

Steve’s more focused on watching Bucky make his way down the hallway. “Nope. I used to be. Not anymore.”

“Is it true you only pretended to be a traitor because you were killing Russian mobsters in Russia?”

What? He doesn’t have time for such nonsense. “No. Sorry, I gotta get going.”

“Whatever.” With that, she lets herself into her apartment and slams the door behind her.

Bucky has made it to their apartment and he lets himself in, leaving the door open for Steve. They lock the door, take off their boots and collapse on the couch, very pleased with today’s accomplishments.

*             *             *

Bucky’s sitting on the couch, checking his cane’s health. He’s got it folded up in his lap and he’s checking each section one by one.

He’d been worried about the extra moisture he has to deal with outside from the snow and slush, but he’s been very good about washing and drying the cane when they’re home. He doesn’t detect any problems in the metal sections.

He runs his fingers along the elastic cord poking out between the sections. Two sections are starting to fray a little, but not enough to be a concern. He thinks he’s got about a week left until he needs to switch to the spare cane and send this one in for elastic replacement. If they get another snowstorm and stay in the apartment a lot, he won’t need to use the cane as much so he might get two weeks out of it.

He’ll keep an eye on it.

Not literally, of course.

Once he’s satisfied with the cane’s health, he checks on the cane tip. As soon as he touches it, he makes a face. That’s definitely not as healthy as it used to be. “Hey, Steve?”

Tap.

“My cane tip is getting really worn. Here, feel it.” Bucky holds out his folded up cane in Steve’s direction and waits for Steve to grab it. “I think it’s the rough pavement outside. The ball’s barely a ball anymore. It ain’t rolling properly anymore. Can I get a new one?”

Tap, tap. Steve asks him if he wants the exact same tip, a different version of the same tip, or if he wants to try a completely different one. He tells him since they had ordered his original cane tip, they now make a [‘high mileage’ rolling ball tip](https://www.maxiaids.com/ambutech-8mm-threaded-high-mileage-rolling-ball-tip-white) that’s covered in a material that will make it last longer when used on rough ground.

The high mileage idea sounds good, but…

“Completely different one? They have different ones?”

Tap. Steve goes on to explain that there are many different shapes and sizes for tips, depending on how you use the cane and what type of ground you’re using it on. Steve uses his hand to demonstrate the size of different cane tips. They range all the way from pencil-thin ones all the way to the big, round ball tips which is the one Bucky’s been using.

“Let me think it over a few days.”

Tap.

Bucky mulls it over. He realizes that he’s much more comfortable walking around now. He no longer needs his cane to identify every tiny thing around him. He’s gotten used to the fact that sometimes he’ll stumble over things or he’ll smack his shoulder into a wall. When those things happen, he no longer has a mini-heart attack, but he just keeps going with his day.

He thinks he’s ready to use a smaller tip. It’s always bothered him that the big ball gets in the way when the cane is in his holster.

Steve gets him a [‘high mileage’ marshmallow tip](https://ambutech.com/shop-online/high-mileage-hook-tip). It’s half the size of his rolling ball tip, and it doesn’t roll. “Can I still sweep with it side to side if it doesn’t roll?”

Steve tells him the same thing he tells him whenever Bucky gets self-conscious about how he’s using the cane in public: as long as he’s coordinating his movements properly and he’s sweeping respectfully, he can use the cane however the hell he wants.

Bucky smiles. “Okay. Can you put it on for me?”

Steve takes his cane and after a few minutes, he hands it back to him. Bucky immediately feels for the end of it, and it feels really weird not having the big rolling ball at the end of it. The new tip’s material is slightly rougher and it’s a lot smaller than the ball was.

For some strange reason, Bucky feels sad about losing his rolling ball tip.

That ball and him have been through a lot together. Along with Steve, it’s been one of the main things that have helped him become comfortable with the darkness around him. It’s helped him gain confidence and given him a sense of comfort and safety when everything about this new life was very scary. “Steve, can we keep the old tip?”

Steve hands him the old ball, squeezes his hand closed around it and wraps his arms around Bucky so he can jostle him before he taps, taps, taps Bucky’s hand, which is holding the ball.

Of course they can keep it.

“Good. I didn’t want you thinking I was being silly.”

Steve rubs the hand that’s holding the ball and kisses him on the cheek.

Bucky rubs the ball in his hand. It’s practically an oval shape now, rather than round, and its original smooth surface is covered in scratches and dings, all evidence of how much they’ve been through together. “Well, it might be time to retire you, my friend, but you’ve earned a permanent spot in this apartment.”

Steve asks him how he feels about devoting a part of one of their shelves for his retired cane tips.

A happy glow lights up in Bucky’s chest. “Oh, that’s a real nice idea, Stevie! Yeah, let’s do that.”

He loves the idea that he’ll get to touch his old cane tips whenever he wants and re-live the adventures he’s had with them. It’s his new version of looking at photographs of cherished past events.

After finding a good retirement shelf for the old cane tip, Bucky starts moving around the apartment with his new cane tip to get used to it. It’s strange not having it roll, but it’s light enough that he can sweep it back and forth easily. When he explores different pieces of furniture, he can feel right away how much smaller the tip is. “This will take some getting used to, but I can do it. No problem.”

*             *             *

“So we’ve started a ‘cane tip retirement’ shelf.”

Leon laughs. “Did you?”

“We sure did. Right now it’s only got one resident, but there’s gonna be more.”

“It’s a great idea, Steve! The cane and its accessories are as important to Bucky as one of his limbs. It’s good that you treat it with respect.”

Steve smiles. “The cane’s given Bucky such a huge amount of confidence, I’m really fond of it too. And I could tell Bucky was feeling a bit sad about having to retire his first tip, so the shelf seemed like a good idea.”

Leon smiles. “You tend to have a lot of really good idea where Bucky Barnes is concerned, don’t you?”

Steve chuckles. “I try.”

“How about applying some of that effort on yourself?”

Steve’s smile tightens a bit. He knows Leon’s trying to steer to conversation to a tougher topic. “I’m gonna start working soon, that’s an idea that I had for myself.”

Leon makes an approving sound. “And I’m very proud of you for taking that step. But there’s something else I’d like you to think about.”

“And what’s that?”

“I don’t think you’ve spent enough time processing your loses in life.”

Steve lets out an ugly laugh. “Which ones?”

“Well, that’s the point, isn’t it? You’ve suffered an unbelievable amount of loss in your short life. I think you haven’t dealt with those losses very well, and that’s contributing to your depression and your temper issues.”

Steve knows where this is going. “Look, I don’t like that whole ‘closure’ baloney.”

Leon smiles. “Good. Neither do I. Closure implies that we’re supposed to follow a specific process which will allow us to box up our grief and put it on a shelf somewhere, where we can admire it from afar and it won’t bother us ever again. Like a keepsake from a place we visited. That’s unrealistic and incredibly harmful. The word ‘closure’ is completely inaccurate for what will help a person.”

“So what’s your word for it?”

“Healing.”

That makes Steve pause. He likes that word.

_Healing._

It sounds…kinder. Less final than ‘closure’. Still…

“I don’t see the point. If—like you said—the point ain’t to get past the loss, then why do you have to do anything about it?”

“Because our bodies aren’t able to contain a huge amount of grief for very long. The grief grows and seeps out, sometimes in a steady drain, sometimes in a big explosion. Either way, you end up not being in complete control of your emotions and that’s not a kind way to live. Those emotions end up negatively impacting your life and the lives around you.”

Steve can’t argue about that. “So what do I do? I ain’t gonna box up my ma’s memory and put it on a shelf.”

“Good, because that’s exactly what I don’t want you to do. I just want you to deal with those emotions inside of you so they stop hurting you.”

“How do I do that?”

“You have to give the grief an outlet. A way of letting it out of your body. Talking helps. Doing something in the memory of the loved one is good. Some people prefer writing about it.”

“Buck already knows everything about ma.”

“So? He needs to deal with his grief too. I think talking about her would make you both feel better.”

“We do talk about her.”

“But you probably only bring her up if something reminds you of her, right? Feel free to bring her up more often. Tell Bucky he can too. Have you been to visit her grave lately?”

Steve shifts. Damn, he’d been hoping Leon would stay away from that. “No. Not since…not since I left for the war.”

Leon looks a bit apprehensive. “Have you checked if her grave is still…”

“Oh, yeah. It’s still there. After the serum, they thought people might be going to visit her or pa because of the whole Captain America thing, so they gave her and pa real headstones with bible inscriptions and fancy carvings. The city’s looked after them better than I ever had time for. I saw the new headstones before I left.”

“Why haven’t you been to see her since you came out of the ice?”

Steve chews on his lip and shifts on the bed. He glances at the bedroom door. If there was ever a time for Bucky to drop something or need help with something, now would be a good time.

He’s seriously considering pretending that Bucky called for him, but then he decides he’s not that pathetic. He doesn’t have to answer Leon’s questions if he doesn’t want to. He can tell him as much information as he wants, and keep the rest to himself. He looks back at the computer screen. “Buck wasn’t there.”

Leon blinks and frowns. “I realize that. What does that have to do with you visiting her?”

“I—I didn’t wanna see her if Buck couldn’t.” It even sounds stupid to Steve’s own ears.

Leon’s still frowning. “You have every right to see her whenever you want, Steve. Bucky has that same right. There’s no written rule that you two have to see her together.”

Steve sighs. Of course the idiot doesn’t get it! “It ain’t that! Jesus!” He scrubs his hands over his face. “Buck—It was my fault that Buck wasn’t there to see her, and I know she knows that, so—”

“Why is it your fault that Bucky couldn’t see her?”

Steve lowers his hands and glares at the screen. “I ain’t talking about that.”

“Steve—”

That familiar guilt floods him and it immediately turns to fear—if he tells Leon about it, then Leon will hate him too, and somehow Bucky will find out and…

…and then the fear morphs into anger like it always does. Anger is good. He can use the anger. “I ain’t talking about that!” He snarls.

Leon holds up a placating hand. “Alright, alright. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that was such a sore spot. Let’s move on to something else.”

Steve doesn’t reply, still seething.

“What about dealing with your grief regarding Bucky’s disability?”

That makes all thoughts about his ma fly out of his head. “What? What’s that supposed to mean? I ain’t the one who lost my sight and hearing. Buck did.” His tone is still angry, but Leon probably realizes that Steve can’t calm down so quickly, so he takes it in stride.

“Yes, and Bucky needs to deal with that grief properly too, but while you didn’t lose those senses yourself, you lost the ability to communicate with Bucky using those senses. That’s a huge loss.”

“You—you think I should be treating it the same as losing ma? That’s dumb.”

“Is it? Aren’t there days when you miss having Bucky be able to hear you and see you the way he used to? Doesn’t that grief, that sadness feel the same as when you’re missing your mom?”

That makes Steve pause. He never realized that he was _allowed_ to feel the same way about Bucky losing his senses as the way he feels about losing his ma. “I—That’s tough. That loss is so much harder for Buck than for me.”

“You’re still allowed to feel that grief.”

“I know. But I ain’t gonna make Buck help me with it. That’s—he helps me with so many other things, and I’d feel ridiculous. This is something that Bucky has the main ownership rights over.”

“Okay, if that’s the way you want to do it, fine. You don’t have to share this grief with Bucky if you don’t want to. But you should find an outlet for it.”

“What do you suggest?”

“I’ve actually spent some time thinking this over and I do have an idea. It might sound crazy, but hear me out, alright?”

Steve narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Alright…”

“How about writing about it?”

Steve stares at him. “Writing?!”

“Absolutely. And not just writing in a journal for yourself, but I’m thinking you could do a blog.”

He knows what blogs are, only because some of the things he’s found online are on ‘blogs’. But…

“I ain’t a writer. I’ve never written anything except letters.”

Leon smiles. “That’s more relevant experience than most bloggers these days have. Besides, you don’t have to be writing a novel—this will be like journaling. You’ll be talking to an audience through the blog. Just write exactly what you want to say.”

Steve is still confused. “A blog?! I don’t—what do you mean?”

Leon smiles, his eyes twinkling. It seems he’s spent a great deal of time thinking this over. “You can write anything you want on the blog. It’ll be completely anonymous and you don’t have to use anybody’s real names, so you should feel comfortable sharing things that maybe you don’t even comfortable sharing with me, and especially things you don’t want to bother Bucky about.”

“Okay…”

“Now, hear me out: the reason I think a blog would be a good idea is because you can share your experiences about living with and being a caregiver for a deafblind person. You’ve talked about how hard it is to find the right resources and get the right information. But to also discuss the emotional side of the experience? That would be priceless for somebody in your position to come across, wouldn’t it? To see that they’re not alone, to see that what they’re feeling isn’t unusual?”

Steve nods. He actually likes this idea. He actually likes this idea a lot. “I can’t imagine how great it would have been to find a blog with everything in it when I started researching.”

“Exactly. You could create such a blog and you could be the one helping others who end up in the same situation as you and Bucky.”

When Leon mentions Bucky, Steve remembers why they’d started talking about this topic in the first place. “You think that’ll help? Writing about it?”

“I think so. Give it a try. If you don’t like it, you can always delete the blog.”

“How—how do I even start?”

Leon smiles, looking excited. “I’ll email you some links to get you started. Take a look at the websites I send you, pick one where you like the layout, make an account and off you go. You can personalize it later if you want.”

“Okay, but how—how do I start writing?”

Leon pauses for several minutes, lost in thought. Then he asks: “What date did you pick up Bucky from the hospital?”

That date is burned into his memory forever. “August 23.”

“Start there. What happened on August 23, what you felt, what you saw, how Bucky was acting etc. Then move onto August 24 and so on.”

Steve still doesn’t like the idea of wallowing in this particular grief—Bucky has full rights to this grief—but he likes the idea of helping other people. He remembers how lost he’d felt when the nurse in the hospital had told him that they didn’t have any resources to help him. How overwhelmed he’d felt when he’d realized that Bucky and him were on their own. They were standing in the dark—for Bucky it was literal—with no map or stars or compass to guide them. To make matters worse, Steve had been hit by the realization that finding the way forward was _his_ responsibility. Bucky couldn’t help him. Steve had to find their way through this darkness on his own.

He likes the idea of being the shining start guiding the way for others who end up in a similar situation. “Okay, I’ll give it a try.”

“Good. Now, one more note about your mother, and then we’re done for today, okay?”

Steve sighs and nods. He gives Leon a little glare, warning him not to get Steve riled up again. Leon seems to understand the warning. “I think you should consider going to see her.”

Steve waits for him to keep going, but Leon just stares at him, smiling gently. Steve narrows his eyes, feeling suspicious. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say about that?”

Leon nods. “Yup. That’s all.”

“I’ll think about it. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but I’ll think about it.”

Leon smiles. “Good. You know that’s all I ever ask. I’ll send you those links for blogs in a few minutes.”

*             *             *

He always tells Bucky about his sessions after they’re done. Sometimes he’ll leave out some details—Bucky doesn’t need to know how often Steve gets into a snit during his sessions—but he always tells him what they discussed.

Bucky is very quiet when Steve tells him about Leon wanting him to visit his ma. He’s fiddling with the hem of his sweater. “So—” Bucky clears his throat. “So you haven’t been to see her at all?”

“Nope.” Steve leans forward and rubs the back of his hand. Steve doesn’t know why Bucky’s nervous, but Steve’s response turns some of the nervousness into confusion. “But why? They didn’t do nothing to her grave, did they?”

“No, that ain’t the problem.” Steve turns Bucky’s hand over and tells him about the expensive headstone she has now.

That makes Bucky smile. “Oh, that’s nice. She’d hate it, huh?”

Steve smiles. “She was probably mad as hell watching them install it. The government should have been using that money to help living people, not dead people.”

Bucky laughs. “Yeah, that sounds like her.” He turns his hand over and squeezes Steve’s hand. “I know you’re deliberately dodging my question, punk. If you really don’t wanna tell me, then you don’t have to. But…”

“But what?” Steve pulls his hand out of Bucky’s grasp so he can draw a question mark on his palm.

“No, never mind.”

“What? Come on. We can’t both be hiding things today. Me doing it’s bad enough.” He draws a bunch more question marks on Bucky’s hand.

When Bucky goes to pulls his hand back and stand up, Steve releases his hand, but he slides onto Bucky’s lap and draws the question marks on his shirt instead. Bucky has a smile on his face, so Steve knows he isn’t really wanting to get away from Steve.

Bucky sighs. “You’re being really irritating, you know that?” But he’s still smiling, so Steve leans forward and kisses him.

“I know,” he mumbles against Bucky’s lips. He knows Bucky knows exactly what he’s saying.

He can feel Bucky’s smile against his lips.

“Fine. Congratulations, you’ve annoyed it out of me.”

Steve smiles and leans against Bucky, gently resting his head on Bucky’s left shoulder so his right arm remains free.

Bucky’s fiddling with Steve’s shirt hem. “Are you gonna wanna go see her any time soon?”

Steve knows exactly what Bucky’s asking. “Oh, you idiot.” He pulls Bucky’s hand off his shirt and tells him that of course, Steve will take Bucky to see her anytime he wants.

Bucky makes a face. “I don’t wanna go if you don’t wanna go. It’s not a life or death situation. It’s stupid that I can’t go by myself, and I don’t wanna go with some stranger, but it ain’t fair to make you go just cause I wanna go.” He’s back to fiddling with Steve’s shirt. “Besides, she’d probably be real mad if I didn’t bring you along.”

Bucky’s quiet for a while, rubbing Steve’s shirt between his fingers. Steve is very comfortable where he is and he realizes he’s not getting as worked up with the conversation as he had when Leon had talked to him about it.

Bucky shifts his head, finds Steve’s face and brushes a kiss on his cheek. “I don’t know why you don’t wanna see her, but I know no matter what it is, she’d like to see you.”

Steve shifts again so he can spell on Bucky’s hand. He doesn’t have to look at his hand to know what he’s spelling. He reminds Bucky that his ma can see him any time she wants.

“I know. But visiting her grave is different. Don’t ask me why, it just is.”

Steve doesn’t reply.

Bucky sighs softly. “You nitwit. Okay, how about this? You don’t gotta tell me why you haven’t been to see her, but please talk to Leon about it, okay? I don’t wanna make you go see her if you don’t want to. I don’t think there’s any reason that would make her not wanna see you, but if you think there is, then Leon can help you figure out if it’s a good reason or a silly reason.”

Steve pulls back so he’s not resting on Bucky’s shoulder. He stares at Bucky. “It ain’t a silly reason, Buck. You could have gone to see her in ’45, but instead you were locked up and being tortured by Hydra, and that’s cause of me. I didn’t keep up my end of the bargain. I promised her that I’d protect you til the end of the line, but I went racing ahead and left you behind, and look what you went through because of it.” He’s speaking softly so Bucky won’t feel the vibrations and figure out Steve’s saying something. There’s no way he’s telling Bucky any of this.

Bucky runs his hand up Steve’s thigh and up to Steve’s face. “Will you talk to Leon about it? Please?”

Steve sighs. “Fine.” He gently taps Bucky’s hand that’s still on his face.

Bucky smiles. “Thank you. Now tell me more about this blog thing.”


	53. Chapter 53

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some dark clouds gathering on the horizon...Enjoy!

Steve thinks working on the blog will be a good and easy way to make progress. It’ll definitely be easier than talking to Leon about his ma’s grave and the many issues connected to it. He’s going to start work in a week, so he figures that’s plenty of time to work on his blog—and maybe… _maybe_ talk to Leon about the other situation. But if he doesn’t have time to discuss the other situation, then that’ll have to wait.

Steve won’t be sad if that happens.

Opening the email Leon had sent him, he looks at some of the blog websites and eventually settles on one he likes. Then he spends way too long making an account and choosing a theme. He doesn’t want to use the default pictures that the theme comes with, so he spends even more time looking for nice pictures to use. He finds a nice picture of the Brooklyn Bridge which he thinks suits his blog nicely, so that becomes the header. He spends nearly thirty minutes playing around with the settings and changing how things look and trying to make a catchy blog title. He can’t think of anything that doesn’t sound dumb or generic, but the stupid website won’t let him continue until he’s put something into both boxes, so he ends up typing ‘My Blog’ for the title, and uses ‘Being a Deafblind Person’s Caregiver’ as the subheading. They’re terrible, but they’ll do for now. Then he clicks the button to write his first post.

He stares at the white box on the screen, watching the cursor blinking at him. His fingers are frozen on the keyboard and he can’t seem to get them moving.

Maybe the problem is that his theme isn’t right? Yes, that sounds reasonable.

So he spends another twenty minutes looking through all the themes more thoroughly and picking the perfect one. But that one doesn’t have a header picture, and Steve liked having the Brooklyn Bridge picture on his blog. That means he has to go back to the themes and find another one. When that’s all done, he decides he’s spent enough time working on the blog for today so he shuts down the computer and goes to find Bucky.

*             *             *

The next day Steve is way too busy doing…various things. Important things. Things that take up a lot of time. He’s too busy to work on his blog.

That’s what he tells Bucky when Barnes asks him if he’s going to at least write his first entry today.

Bucky’s ‘unimpressed’ face looks exactly the same as it had when he’d been a skinny little eight year old. “Steve, come on. You already pushed off one of your sessions with Leon, and you’re gonna start work in a couple of days. You gotta do at least one of the two things he told you to do. You don’t wanna deal with your ma, fine. But please work on this blog thing. Leon says it’ll help you feel better. Please?”

Steve can never say no if Bucky says ‘please’—and he’s damn sure the bastard knows it—so he gets his computer and goes to sit in the bedroom and logs into his blog.

Then he’s staring at that stupid white box again, and his fingers are frozen on the keyboard again. Before he can convince himself that the theme still isn’t right, he decides to follow Leon’s advice.

He said to start with August 23, so Steve will start with August 23. Literally. He writes:

_August 23 was the day my entire life changed._

That’s sounds good. A bit overly dramatic, but it _had_ been a very traumatic day.

_When I woke up that morning, I had no idea that on August 22, the life of my_

He pauses. What should he call Bucky? He already knows not to use their real names. He’s planning on just using the first letter of their first names…but he hadn’t thought about what to call Bucky.

His roommate? His friend? Those are accurate, but those labels leave out a huge part of their story.

His lover? That label has always sounded weird to him. Like his only interaction with Bucky is having sex, which is also inaccurate.

He finally settles on ‘partner’. He’s heard Sam use that term before and he likes that it neatly encompasses everything they are to each other.

Where was he? Oh, right.

_When I woke up that morning, I had no idea that on August 22, the life of my partner (B) had changed forever._

The next problem is how he’s going to explain Bucky’s surgery. Leon had suggested keeping those details very vague and just focusing on what happened from the time Steve arrived at the hospital. But if anybody ends up reading this thing, Steve doesn’t want them doubting the true nature of Bucky’s disabilities, so he wants to provide some details. He’s already come up with a good, vague story so the next part goes smoothly.

_There had been a terrible accident and he lost his vision, his hearing and his left arm. The hospital called me and I rushed over to be with him. B was sitting on the bed and the nurse with him (her name was Dolores) was helping him eat. B was eating a sandwich and drinking water._

Steve smiles. That sounds good so far. He’s pretty happy with his accomplishment and he’s pleased that he’s remembering so many details, like the nurse’s name and what Bucky was eating. He thinks those add a lot of depth to the story.

He smiles, feeling impressed with himself. This is going much better than he thought it would. Barely any time has passed and he’s already half-way through writing about August 23!

Giving himself a mental pat on the back, he dives back in.

_B was very scared but he was happy when he realized I was there. I helped B sign the discharge papers and helped him get dressed and then we took a cab home. I carried him up the outside steps because he couldn’t see them and then we were both tired so we went to bed._

Done. August 23 is officially finished!

Smiling and feeling quite proud of himself, Steve publishes the entry and emails Leon the link to his blog, telling him to look at the work Steve’s done. When the email is sent, Steve shuts down the computer.

Good job, Rogers. That was _way_ easier than he thought he would be. This whole healing thing isn’t so hard.

*             *             *

He gets a reply from Leon a few hours after he’d published his post. Steve opens the reply on his phone, excited to read Leon’s praise.

Leon starts out by commending Steve for beginning the blog and taking that first step…

…but then he tells him that he doesn’t believe Steve wrote the entry properly. The writing lacks emotional substance.

Steve’s good mood drains out of him. _Lacks emotional substance?!_

That annoys him. It also kind of hurts. He’d told Leon very clearly that he had no experience writing things and he’d done the best he could. He’d put in a lot of details and he hadn’t used his or Bucky’s real names and he’d even kept SHIELD and the government completely out of it.

He writes back a short, curt reply, telling Leon that he did the best he could and obviously Leon doesn’t think his best is good enough, so Steve is going to take a break from therapy for now. A reply appears a few minutes later, but Steve deletes it without reading it.

He’s not interested in what Leon has to say anymore.

Leon tries calling him, but Steve ignores the call. He writes another email, telling him he’ll contact him if and when he decides to continue with therapy.

Bucky gets worried when Steve tells him he isn’t going to go to therapy for a while. “You sure? I thought you and Leon were getting along well. Is this about the blog? Didn’t you say he liked what you wrote?”

Steve had decided it was an acceptable risk to lie to Bucky about Leon’s feedback. Since Bucky wouldn’t be reading his blog or Leon’s email anytime soon, Steve didn’t see the harm in it. It’s bad enough that Leon thinks he’s a loser. He doesn’t want Bucky thinking the same thing.

He tells Bucky that doing the blog hasn’t helped him. Besides, this is a good time to stop therapy, he explains. He’s starting work in a few days and he has to focus on that, and on Bucky. There are still many things he has to do to get ready for working so he has no time to deal with Leon, visiting his ma or writing a stupid blog.

Bucky doesn’t look happy about any of this, but Steve tells him he’s made up his mind and he doesn’t want to discuss it further.

“Okay, fine. I’ll drop it,” Bucky says. Steve can hear the ‘for now’ floating around them, but he ignores it.

*             *             *

Sam is also worried and unhappy when Steve texts him and tells him he’s stopping therapy for now. When Steve keeps brushing off his texts with ‘Don’t worry about it’, Sam starts calling him.

Steve is debating turning his phone off, but then he decides he’s not annoyed with Sam. Leon’s the one he’s annoyed with, so the next time Sam calls, Steve answers.

The second he answers the call, Sam starts talking like he’s afraid Steve will hang up before he can get a full sentence out. “Before you hang up on me, I’m not gonna make you go back to therapy if you don’t want to.”

Steve barely restrains himself from snorting. As if Sam could force him to go anywhere he doesn’t want to go! “Okay, but you’re gonna spend an hour talking my ear off and telling me why I should go back. I’ve already told you: I’m too busy. I haven’t even set up my work space yet.”

“Can you please calm down?”

“I’m calm.”

“You’ve got that tone where you’re two seconds away from losing your temper and hanging up on me. I just wanna get a feel for what happened because I’m your friend and I’m worried about you, okay?”

Steve sighs. He lowers his defensiveness just a little bit. But not too much. He’s still thinks Sam is fishing to find a way to force him to go back to therapy. Steve has to be on his guard. “Okay.”

“Did Leon do something to make you mad or uncomfortable?”

Steve isn’t going to admit to Sam that he’s a moron who can’t write a simple blog post. But he can tell him the partial truth. “He pushed me about something I didn’t wanna talk about, and then when I tried doing one of his homework assignments, it didn’t help me.”

“It made you feel worse?”

“No, I felt exactly the same after I did the assignment as I did before. I guess Leon ain’t a very effective therapist. But none of that matters, because I’m gonna be too busy working soon to keep doing therapy, so stopping now is fine.”

Sam is quiet for a moment. Then: “If I drop this now, can I bring this up again in a few weeks without you biting my head off?”

Steve shrugs. “Sure. But I ain’t gonna change my mind. I don’t need therapy right now.”

*             *             *

Now that his first day of work is rapidly approaching, Steve becomes fully focused on getting ready, and all thoughts of Leon, the stupid blog and his ma’s grave are pushed out of his head.

He’d read online that when somebody’s working from home, it’s important to set up a work space that’s just for work so he can keep a clear division between his work stuff and personal stuff. He buys a desk and a desktop computer and sets them up in a corner in the living room.

Between Bucky’s building block creations, the coffee table, the couch, the games shelves, the printer and now Steve’s work space, the living room is getting a bit cramped, but Bucky knows exactly where everything is, so that’s fine.

While setting up his work space, he’s also been working on solving their other safety problem. It’s good that Bucky can evacuate the apartment in case of a fire, but what if Bucky hurts himself, or somebody breaks in? How could Bucky alert authorities or Steve that he needs help?

The problem is that Bucky can’t use a phone. Even if Steve gets him a phone that’s got big buttons on it, it’s not practical. Bucky could learn which button to press in order to call Steve, but he has no way of knowing when Steve has picked up the call, or what Steve is saying.

Bucky says the idea of talking at a phone and having no idea whether there’s anybody on the other end makes him feel dumb, and the point of the whole thing is to alert Steve if there’s something going on, and if Bucky has no idea whether Steve’s been alerted or not, the whole thing is pointless.

Steve has another idea. He’d gone on missions in very remote areas, and all members of the team would wear GPS trackers which they could use to send messages for their check-in, or allow their supervisors to track their movements.

Steve does research and discovers that the lower-tech versions of such trackers are available for civilian purchase. They’re called [S.P.O.T.s](https://www.findmespot.ca/en/index.php?cid=100).

When it arrives, he pops in the batteries, reads through the user guide and installs the corresponding app on his phone and gets it set up. The device can be set to continuously track its location and send GPS coordinates to Steve’s phone at set intervals. But Bucky will be the one who’s staying at home so that’s not a function they need at this point.

There’s also a convenient SOS button, which can be pressed in an emergency, and the GPS coordinates of the SPOT along with the registered information gets sent to the nearest emergency dispatch. Steve carefully fills out the registration, putting in Bucky’s name, their address and explaining about Bucky’s disabilities and his communication requirements, along with Steve and Sam’s cell numbers. Putting Natasha down as an emergency contact is risky—if she’s away on a mission, she won’t get the message for days. Hopefully Bucky will never have to use the SOS button anyway.

There are two other buttons: an OK button, and a Custom Message button. Bucky can press the OK button whenever he wants, and a text message containing his GPS coordinates and a short ‘Okay’ message will be sent to Steve’s phone.

The Custom Message can be set up to send customized messages to Steve’s cellphone. He creates two:

_I need help. Not urgent._

_I need help ASAP._

Bucky can use the ‘not urgent’ message to indicate that Steve should come home whenever he’s done meetings—and it would be appreciated if he didn’t stop anywhere along the way—but he doesn’t have to drop everything and rush home.

The other message would be for non-life threatening situations, like if Bucky breaks something or falls over something—Steve will need to get home ASAP, but there’s no need to call 911.

Steve figures between the SOS button, the two custom messages, and the OK button, they’ve covered every scenario that Bucky might need.

It takes Bucky a few days to learn how to use the device. They glue different textured circles of fabric over each button so Bucky can learn the differences better. The very coarse sandpaper is the SOS button—not to be pushed unless necessary. The soft velvet is the OK button, which Bucky will need to be pressing roughly every 30 minutes while Steve is out of the apartment. They practice a lot, making sure Bucky knows what button he’s pushing, and testing that Steve’s phone is receiving the messages properly.

*             *             *

Three days after the SPOT arrived, Steve’s new boss Jeff asks him to come in to meet the rest of the team and officially sign his employment contract. It’s time for Steve to leave Bucky home alone.

Bucky knows they’re ready for this, which is what he reminds Steve throughout the morning. They’re both nervous about it, but Bucky really wants to try this. They get the SPOT set up and Bucky does his best to keep their morning calm and uneventful, not giving Steve any excuse to delay his meeting.

Before Steve leaves, he reminds Bucky about his lunch, which Bucky patiently listens to, even though they’ve already gone over it twice. Steve’s prepared a sandwich and put it in the icebox, and Bucky’s also got yoghurt and other snacks to eat.

“I know. I won’t starve, I promise.” He’s on the couch and he can feel Steve’s toes touching his slippers as Steve hovers over him.

Bucky puts an encouraging smile on his face. “It’s gonna be fine, I promise. Every 30 minutes, I’ll press the button. But don’t jump into a hackie if I’m a few minutes late, okay? I ain’t gonna be sitting here with one hand on my watch, but I’ll keep you updated.”

Steve’s toes don’t move. Swallowing a sigh, Bucky reaches out and pulls Steve onto his lap. He pulls Steve’s head down and kisses his cheek. “It’ll be fine. I ain’t gonna open the door and I ain’t gonna go out on the balcony. I’m just gonna do my art and have lunch when I get hungry. And then you’ll be back home. If there’s a fire, I’ll get out. I can do this. _We_ can do this.”

Steve wraps his arms around him and squeezes him tight, pressing his face into Bucky’s neck.

His Stevie’s always been a worrier, especially when it comes to people he loves. Bucky rubs his back. “Come on, sweetheart. I know you’re scared, but we gotta try to do this. You want me to press the button every 10 minutes? Would that make you feel better?”

Steve sighs into his neck and pulls back, rubbing Bucky’s hand.

Bucky twists his hand and tangles his fingers with Steve’s. “Alright, get going. You don’t wanna be late for your first day of work. That ain’t a good way to start things.” He releases Steve’s fingers and smacks him on the side. “Go on. I’ll walk you to the door.”

He gets Steve to the door and helps get his winter layers on. Opening the door, he catches Steve’s jacket, pulls him close and kisses him. He can feel Steve lingering during the kiss, which isn’t helping them get Steve out the door. Pulling back from the kiss, Bucky gives him a little shove. “Go on, get out of here. It’ll be fine, I promise. If something goes wrong, I know what to do, you know that.”

He stays where he is, knowing if he touches Steve again, the punk will probably cling to him again and it’ll take another ten minutes to get him moving towards the door. Eventually, Bucky feels the vibration of the motion sensor on his leg, indicating that the front door has been shut.

Stepping up to the door, he confirms that it’s been closed. “You better not have snuck past me, Rogers. I’m gonna be real mad if you’re still here.” He waits a few beats, but when nothing happens, he decides to believe that Rogers wouldn’t be that much of a twit.

He really is alone in the apartment for the first time ever.

He’s home alone.

Bucky grins, feeling proud. “Look at me. Deafblind and home alone. Good job, Barnes.”

He carefully locks the door, checking the deadbolt multiple times and then makes the rounds in the apartment, verifying that all the windows and the balcony door are locked tight. Steve had already checked them, but Bucky likes stretching out his activities.

He really doesn’t have that many activities he can do that don’t require Steve’s assistance or participation, so hurrying through things will only bring boredom on faster. He’d learned that during the years he’s spent in various prison cells.

He gets his art supplies, his art portfolio and makes himself comfortable on the couch. He opens his art portfolio and feels different pages, searching for a project to work on. He picks his beach picture and carefully pulls it out, running his fingers over it to re-familiarize himself with how it looks. He’s gotten started on making the beach, so that’s what he decides to continue with. He finds the bag of Brighton Beach sand among his art supplies, gets is glue pot and paintbrush ready and starts adding more sand to the beach area. He’s planning on gluing other things into the sand once he’s got the sand layer down. Maybe he’ll ask Steve to cut out some boat shapes that he can glue onto the water. He’s still debating over what fabric to use for the water. He thinks using a smooth, slippery fabric like polyester would work well to represent the water…but he also wants something crinkly and rough that could be shaped into waves. That’ll require more thought, but he’s got a lot of beach to still do, so he’s got time.

He stops every few minutes, checking his watch. When 30 minutes have gone by, he carefully unclips the SPOT from his waistband and feels for the velvet button. He presses it firmly, waits five seconds, and presses it again—just in case.

He reattaches it to his pants and goes back to focusing on the sand. Now that he’s stopped thinking about the ocean problem, he doesn’t have anything urgent occupying his thoughts, and that’s when he realizes he feels a bit…weird. He can’t put his finger on what’s bothering him, but there’s definitely something. He doesn’t feel physically sick, he just feels…unsettled.

When he gets hungry, he gets his sandwich, a juice box and yoghurt from the icebox. He carefully brings his lunch to the table, one item at a time and slowly eats his lunch. He checks the time and presses the button again (twice) when another 30 minutes have gone by.

Once he’s done eating, he brings each item back into the kitchen, and carefully washes and puts everything away in its right place. When he’s done wiping the counter, another 30 minutes have passed, so he sends the OK message again.

Heading back to the couch, he makes himself comfortable and continues working on the sand, painting small patches of glue into the area and pressing pinches of sand onto the glue. Eating and washing his dishes had nicely distracted him, but working on his art project isn’t requiring as much attention as the other activities, so he starts becoming aware of that weird feeling again.

He’s no closer to figuring out why he feels strange, but he doesn’t let it distract him from checking the time. When another 30 minutes have gone by, he presses the button again. Hopefully everything is working well with the SPOT and Steve is getting his OK messages.

The thought of Steve makes him pause, his hand resting on his bag of sand. Now that he’s thinking about Steve, he knows what’s bothering him.

It’s way too quiet.

Bucky realizes how silly that sounds—but it _really_ is.

It’s too quiet.

And too…still.

When Steve’s here, Bucky knows that technically, he can’t hear him—but it’s not the same. It’s rare that more than ten minutes go by without Steve stopping by to ask Bucky how he’s doing, or sitting next to him, watching him do his activities. Steve’s always either spelling to him, or touching him, always making sure Bucky knows he’s there and focused on him. Even when Steve isn’t talking directly to him, Bucky usually knows exactly what the punk is saying. Steve is constantly talking to him, whether his lips are moving or not.

Now, there’s nothing. When Bucky stops moving, there’s nothing going on around him. He knows he can’t see or hear anything around him anyway, but just knowing that he’s surrounded by complete stillness feels creepy. He’s starting to become aware of the darkness around him again. Instead of mentally visualizing things in the apartment, Bucky’s focusing more on the darkness again, like he had in those early days.

He knows it’s just his brain playing tricks on him. Due to the lack of stimulation, he’s spending more time focusing on the silence and the darkness, and that’s amplifying both of them.

Bucky makes a face. He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like it one bit.

But as soon as that thought goes through his mind, he knows it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t like it. He’ll have to get used to it or find ways to occupy himself more effectively.

Clearly, he’s become too accustomed to having Steve provide most of his stimulation, and it’s not fair to expect Steve to keep fulfilling that role. Steve can’t devote his entire life to keeping Bucky entertained and stimulated all day. That’s not fair on Steve. Steve needs his own space and he needs to be directing some of his attention on himself. Otherwise, they’ll be heading towards a Pickerton situation, and that’s no good.

So Bucky being bored and needing more stimulation is something that he’ll have to solve himself.

*             *             *

Steve is so focused on his cell phone that he nearly walks right past the company’s building. He mentally berates himself and checks the time. It’s only been twenty minutes since he left the apartment, so Buck won’t be sending his first signal for at least ten minutes.

He needs to focus on what he’s doing and not make an idiot out of himself on his first day at work. He goes inside and is met by Jeff, who introduces him to his coworkers. Steve realizes he’s checked his phone three times during the introductions—and he can see people giving him dirty looks, so he decides to explain himself.

It’s either that, or stop checking his phone…and not checking his phone isn’t an option.

“Sorry, everybody. I have a…my…usually I’m always home and this is the first time I’ve left…we’ve never done this before. I’m waiting for check-ins that should be coming in on my phone. Sorry.”

Their dirty looks become more understanding, and Steve tries to be more discreet, but as the 30 minute window gets narrower, he gets more anxious. When 32 minutes have passed, he finally feels the phone vibrate and there it is:

A text message with the standard ‘OK’ message, and a set of the apartment’s GPS coordinates. Right after the first one comes in, his phone vibrates again, and a duplicate message comes in.

Steve smiles. Good job, Barnes. Being extra cautious because he knows what a worrier Steve is.

Another 30 minutes go by, and again he receives two OK messages.

Gradually, he starts relaxing. They can do this.

*             *             *

The stupid silence and the stupid darkness are getting heavier the more time goes by, and Bucky’s alternating between re-organizing his art kit and walking around the apartment, identifying different objects. Anything to keep his mind occupied. He forces himself to keep visualizing the apartment and the things he’s touching, trying to fill that darkness with light and familiar images.

When his motion sensor suddenly vibrates, letting him know the front door’s been opened, a burst of fear runs through him. Steve had told him he’d be gone for about two hours, and it makes sense that the person who opened the door would be Steve, but when the darkness and silence are pressing in on him like this, he’s understandably more on edge. Bucky quickly shoves his art kit off his lap and climbs to his feet.

“You better be Steve, or I’ll warn you: I’ve got a device that can call the police with just a press of a button!”

A gentle hand touches his, and Bucky immediately feels for the wrist. There’s a bead, and the three small dots spelling out the letter S. Relief floods him immediately, but he manages to catch himself before he yanks Steve close to him.

He has to make a choice. What he really wants to do is collapse in Steve’s arms and cling to him for a few days and make Steve talk to him and touch him constantly so the darkness and silence will fade away again.

But that would be a big step backwards. If Steve realizes how being alone has affected Bucky, he’ll probably refuse to leave him home alone for the next ten years. That wouldn’t be fair. Besides, he’s already identified the problem and how to solve it. Steve isn’t—and shouldn’t be—his only source of stimulation. Bucky has a brain and perfectly good hand and he can play games and come up with activities which will keep him busy and happy. It isn’t fair to force Steve to always be the center of his attention. Steve already devotes so much time to keeping Bucky happy and safe.

This is something Bucky will have to figure out on his own. So he puts a smile on his face and touches Steve’s face. “See? I’m fine! It went real well, didn’t it?”

Steve’s smiling and he’s happily tapping Bucky’s back. He pulls Bucky into a hug and jostles him around a bit. Clearly, Steve’s meeting went well, the SPOT worked and Steve’s really happy with how things went.

So overall, this was a big success. Bucky has some work to do, but he can handle that work on his own.


	54. Chapter 54

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last sentence of this chapter is one which many of you have been waiting for a long, long time…

Now that Steve’s officially signed his employment contract, Bucky is fully devoted to making sure Steve’s new job will go smoothly. There’s no way he can be the reason why this doesn’t work out for Steve. He knows how important it is for Steve to have his own time and his own activities to do.

Thankfully, Steve seems to be just as excited about working, and he settles into working from home very easily. At first he’s still coming over to Bucky frequently and making sure he’s okay, but Bucky always gently directs him back to his desk, telling him he’s fine and Steve should focus on his work.

Bucky realizes that he has no way of knowing whether Steve’s busy or not when he approaches him. He doesn’t want to be like an annoying kid—going up to Steve and disturbing him when he’s concentrating on something or is on the phone with someone important. Steve’s explained to him that he doesn’t mind if Bucky comes up to him, but the situation doesn’t sit well with Bucky.

To solve the problem, he puts a spoon into Steve’s little mug that holds his pens on his desk. “If you ain’t busy then leave the spoon in there and I’ll know I can chat with you, but if you’re busy then take it out. I’ll always check on the spoon before talking to you.”

The system works well. Bucky can go up to Steve’s desk and feel for the spoon without having to bother Steve. For the first few days, the spoon is always in the mug and Bucky can wrap his arm around Steve and chat with him about his work, but as Steve gets more involved in his work and he starts receiving projects, he focuses more on work, which is exactly how it should be.

At least—that’s what Bucky firmly reminds himself whenever he’s doing something by himself and starts to get bored. Thankfully, because he knows that Steve is in the apartment with him, he can trick his brain into visualizing Steve at his desk, so the darkness and silence aren’t as frightening as they had been when he’d been home alone, but the boredom isn’t as easily fixed.

As Steve gets busier, he’s no longer coming over to Bucky, or calling Bucky over with the motion sensor, and the spoon isn’t in the mug most times that Bucky checks, so Bucky’s left to find ways to keep himself busy.

Along with his block building, knitting, his art projects and puzzle games, he figures out which games he can play by himself. Bingo is kind of entertaining when he sets up three boards and tries to guess which one will be the eventual winner. Checkers is just as tough when he’s playing against himself as when he’s playing with Steve.

Taking care of his plants also takes up time, but there’s a limit to how much he can touch and water and trim the plants during the day without damaging them. He doesn’t want to risk injuring them just because he’s bored, so he forces himself to only check on them once a day, in the afternoons.

Steve works Monday through Friday. He starts right after breakfast, takes a break to prepare and eat lunch, and then works until it’s time to get dinner ready. After dinner, they spend time together: playing games, watching TV or going out for walks.

Bucky structures his days very carefully, trying to portion out his activities so he doesn’t get bored. It’s tough, but he doesn’t want Steve realizing how difficult this is for him. He knows he can come up with more things to do during the day, he’s just not being creative enough.

In the mornings, Bucky gets the coffee going and then leaves the kitchen so Steve can make breakfast. After breakfast, Bucky does the dishes very slowly. Then he chooses an activity to do until Steve tells him lunch is ready. After lunch, he takes care of his plants and then picks a different activity which he stretches out until dinner.

It keeps his hand busy, which is better than being completely bored, but he misses the stimulation of interacting with somebody else and his activities aren’t mentally challenging. Anytime he stops moving for longer than a few seconds or if the activity he’s doing is so simple that he stops paying attention to what his hand is doing, the boredom quickly settles over him.

As the weeks go by, the situation gets worse. He’s done all of his activities so many times that he no longer has to use his brain for most of them. He tries to come up with different ways of doing things, but most of his games only have true variety if Steve helps him adapt them, and the point is for Bucky to entertain himself without needing to bother Steve.

He never thought he’d miss working, but being allowed to sit on his butt all day and do nothing really isn’t as great as he thought it would be. He hates that Steve is busy working and doing all the chores—and Bucky spends his day playing games and wandering around. He’s bored and he’s not contributing to their household, and he _hates_ that.

Some days, he thinks about the fact that this might be his life for the next fifty _years_ , and that’s an unbearable thought. But he knows he needs to find a way to make it bearable. He loves Steve and he loves the life they’ve built, and he knows how much Steve does for him. He will not repay all the work Steve does for him by making him feel like he’s not doing enough.

He knows all he has to do is say one word about it, and Steve will quit his job and go back to being by his side twenty-four hours a day to keep Bucky from being bored, but that wouldn’t be fair. It’s not Steve’s fault that Bucky’s bored nor that he can’t work, and Steve does so much for him anyway.

Bucky refuses to be difficult. He refuses to make Steve think this is something he has to fix. They’re _not_ gonna have a Pickerton situation.

That’s _not_ happening.

Bucky will have to solve the feeling of boredom and the feeling of inadequacy on his own…

…but unfortunately, he has no idea how to do it.

*             *             *

Friday afternoons are Bucky’s favourite time of the week. It’s the start of the weekend, which means he gets to have Steve all to himself until Monday morning. He was overjoyed to learn that people regularly work five days a week now, instead of the six days which he and Steve had been accustomed to in the past. Instead of getting to spend just one full day a week with Steve, he gets two whole days!

Now that Steve is working, the days of the week are no longer irrelevant labels. As soon as Bucky had realized that their routine is back to being controlled by the days of the week, he’d asked Steve to make the paper calendar on the wall into a version that Bucky can use.

Steve’s done his best. The letters spelling out each month have been traced with the tactile pen to become raised lines. The entire page is covered in a grid made from strings so Bucky can feel the individual days, and Steve puts a dot to indicate which square is the first of the month and which is the last. Two dots represent a special occasion. The first square in each row is Sunday, which is a good day. The next five are Monday through Friday. Bucky has to get through those, and the last square is Saturday, which is also a good day. He tracks the days very carefully, using the tactile pen to cross out each day before he goes to brush his teeth at night.

He’s pretty confident that he’s doing a good job giving Steve his space and not interfering with his work, until one particular Saturday morning.

It hadn’t been a good week. On Monday, Bucky had gotten frustrated with one of his art projects, but when he’d gone up to Steve’s desk to ask for help, the spoon hadn’t been in the mug. On Tuesday, he’d tangled one of his knitting projects into a hopeless mess, and again, the spoon hadn’t been in the mug. That pattern had repeated for most of the week: whenever Bucky got very bored or frustrated, he’d go over to Steve’s desk, and the spoon was never in the mug.

Each time, he knew Steve would help him that very second if Bucky asked him to, but that thought always makes him feel like a stupid, helpless child. He refuses to be an annoying little kid, tugging on Steve’s sleeve and demanding attention for his childish activities while Steve is doing important adult things. He remembers how annoyed he’d get when Baby Becca would tag along and bother him while he was busy negotiating with their landlord or a shop owner who they owed money to. Becca always wanted Bucky to help fix her toys or play with her or answer silly questions, and while Bucky loved doing all of those things, it did annoy him when Becca couldn’t wait until he was done doing things that she needed him to do to stay alive—like convincing the shop owner to add to Bucky’s ever-growing tab by giving him one of the stale old loaves of bread so he, Steve and Becca would have something to eat that day.

Now, he’s in Baby Becca’s shoes, but he doesn’t have the excuse of being five years old and not knowing better. And that makes him feel even worse about the whole situation.

Of course he knew Steve would help him at the end of his work day, but the Bucky had carefully planned out what activity he’d do in the morning, and almost every day, things happened which brought those activities to a sudden halt way earlier than he’d anticipated.

It hadn’t been a good week at all, which is why Bucky had been counting down the hours to the end of Steve’s work week. And on Saturday morning, he’s a very, very happy man. They’re being lazy and they’ve eating breakfast in bed, and now they’re gonna be playing dominoes in bed.

They bought a special set of [dominoes](https://www.maxiaids.com/dominoes-with-raised-dots-double-six) from one of the online stores Steve buys a lot of their games from. Each tile comes with raised dots, making it easy for Bucky to feel what number is being represented. But unless Bucky plays very carefully, the tiles tend to slide all over the place, so Steve has glued a metal strip to each tile. They play on one of their little whiteboards and Bucky doesn’t have to worry about the tiles sliding everywhere when he touches them.

To solve the problem of Steve being able to peek at Bucky’s tiles, Bucky uses a metal ruler from Steve’s work desk. He can attach his magnetic tiles to it and if he pulls his knees up, he can hide his ruler and tiles behind his knees and everything stays neatly in one place.

It’s Bucky’s turn and he carefully feels the tiles on the board which are available for connections. There’s a three and a one. He feels his own tiles. He’s got a one. He grins. “I have a good piece, Rogers,” he warns, taking the tile off the metal stand and carefully attaching it to the white board. He checks that it’s in the right spot and leans back, satisfied.

He feels Steve smack his leg. He smirks. “Don’t be hating me just cause the tiles like me.”

He waits until Steve pokes his leg. He lifts his hand, expecting Steve to guide his hand to feel the new piece so he can figure out what tile he’d put down, but instead Steve rubs his hand.

Bucky smirks harder. “Oh, the tiles don’t like you? Ah, Rogers. That’s so sad. Sad for you. Not for me.”

The next smack on his legs is definitely harder than the first one. Bucky bursts into delighted laughter, sticks his tongue out in Steve’s direction and feels for the white board, ready for his own turn.

He’s very, very happy and he wishes life were like this all the time. He also wishes Steve could have his own time at the same time, which doesn’t make any sense, but it’s the weekend and Bucky’s happy and he’s allowed to have silly thoughts.

They finish the game and decide to get dressed and go for a walk. Bucky barely lets Steve out of his sight, grabbing for him and talking to him and touching him whenever his hand isn’t holding his cane. When they get back home and Steve prepares lunch, Bucky stays in the kitchen, chatting with him, poking him and demanding to be given samples of food to check for quality.

He’s trying to control his need to touch and be touched, to talk and be talked to—and he thinks he’s doing a pretty good job, but when they’re in bed that night, Steve rolls over and tugs Bucky’s hand out from under his pillow. Steve wants to know what’s bothering him.

Bucky scoffs. “Bothering me? Nothing! I’m fine. In fact, I’m better than fine. I feel great.”

Steve jostles his hand, not satisfied. Steve tells him that he knows Bucky’s upset over something and he can’t fix the situation unless he know what’s going on.

Bucky’s content smile gradually slips off his face. Shit. He came on way too strong today and now Steve knows something’s wrong. This is exactly what he didn’t want.

Steve shakes his hand again, wanting him to pay attention and answer him. Again, he demands to know what’s bothering him.

Bucky sighs softly. “It’s not a big deal, it really ain’t.”

He feels the bed shift. Maybe Steve sat up? Then frantic question marks are being drawn on his palm.

Bucky gently curls his fingers over Steve’s, stopping him mid-sentence. “I just…” He makes a face. “Look. If I tell you, you gotta promise me that you won’t do anything stupid like quit your job. You gotta promise.”

Steve’s hand that isn’t trapped by Bucky’s is frantically touching Bucky’s face, as if Steve can read on his face exactly what’s wrong.

Bucky shakes their joined hands. “Promise, Rogers. Or I ain’t telling you nothing. You ain’t quitting your job over what I’m gonna say. Promise.”

Finally, Steve taps on their joined hands.

“Promise on your ma’s grave.”

A more hesitant tap.

But it’s a tap.

Good enough.

“I’m having a hard time not getting bored while you’re working. And being bored when you’ve got good eyes and ears is not the same as being bored when you don’t got any. I miss—I miss—it’s too damn quiet. Nobody’s talking to me, nobody’s touching me, nobody’s doing anything with me. I can keep my hands busy, but eventually I get bored and then my mind starts noticing that I’m—I’m—I don’t know, lonely I guess.”

That was the wrong word to use, because Steve completely freaks out. He alternates clutching and jostling Bucky’s hand with one hand, while his other is squeezing Bucky’s thigh. It’s clear he’s too frazzled by the news to spell properly.

“Hush, Stevie, it’s okay. Calm down. I’m okay, I promise. Please. It sounds worse than it is. Lonely ain’t the right word. That’s too dramatic. I’m just…having trouble keeping myself entertained.”

Steve’s grip on Bucky’s hand is on the verge of being painful. “You gotta—can you loosen your grip just a little?”

Steve release his hand as if it’s on fire and Bucky gently stretches out his fingers. “Look, I didn’t wanna upset you. This ain’t your fault—”

His hand is grabbed—more gently this time—and anxious fingers are flying over his palm, spelling very quickly.

Bucky curls his fingers up, stopping the flow of words. He wasn’t tracking any of the letters, but he knows what Steve was trying to spell. “I know what you’re about to say, and no, it ain’t your responsibility to keep me entertained every second of the day, even if you’re sitting at a desk a few feet from me. We’ve talked about this. We can’t have a Pickerton situation. This is a problem, but it ain’t gonna be solved if you go back to doing things like you were doing them cause that ain’t healthy for either of us.”

Tracing up Steve’s arm, Bucky finds his face. Steve’s chest is rising and falling rapidly and his jaw is clenched. He’s still tense and anxious. Bucky gently rubs at the corners of Steve’s jaw, trying to get him to loosen up. “Calm down. Please? We can fix this, I know we can. We gotta move past you feeling guilty, because you feeling guilty over this is dumb and that ain’t helping us fix the situation.”

He finds Steve’s legs so he can lean closer to him. Once he’s found Steve’s face again, he gives him a soft kiss. “Don’t go giving yourself an asthma attack, you hear?” He can’t keep the smile off his face when he says it, and when he touches Steve’s lips, he can feel there’s a small smile tugging on his tight lips, so that’s progress.

Bucky figures he might as well launch right into the issue. Once Steve starts thinking about solutions, he’ll hopefully be distracted from his silly guilt. “I’ve been doing my best to come up with things to keep me busy—but the problem is when I’m just doing things by myself, there ain’t enough stimulation to keep me focused and happy. I need to do something where I’m getting something back. I don’t know—maybe there are games where I do something and then there’s a vibration or something?”

Steve’s quiet for several minutes. Bucky’s had to pee for about ten minutes, so he’s about to shift himself off the bed to head for the bathroom, when Steve grabs his hand and asks him what he thinks about a pet.

Bucky is more focused on the needs of his bladder than listening to Steve, so he misunderstands. “Pet what? I ain’t really in the mood for sex right now. And honestly—Rogers, there’s a time and place to be thinking about your dick, and right now is not it.”

He’s a bit annoyed, but apparently so is Steve, because he smacks Bucky in the chest and rubs his hand hard.

“Okay, okay. Sorry. I just assum—”

Rub, rub, rub. Steve is really annoyed.

“Jesus, I already said I was sorry.”

Steve again asks him if he thinks getting a pet would be a good idea. As in—an A-N-I-M-A-L. He spells it out very slowly and repeats it twice. A-N-I-M-A-L. A domesticated—

“Okay, okay, I got it. You weren’t talking about your dick.”

He has no idea what to think about Steve’s suggestion. It’s not something that’s ever crossed his mind. When they were growing up they barely had enough money and food to feed themselves, never mind sharing their meager resources with an animal. “I—I gotta think about that, but first, budge over. I really need to piss.”

He goes to the bathroom and comes back to the bed. Steve budges over to let him back into his spot. Steve lies down and Bucky burrows into Steve’s chest, making himself comfortable. Bucky drops his hand close to Steve’s so they can keep talking.

“I don’t think a dog would work. I don’t want this to be extra work for you. The whole point is to give me something to do so you can focus on work. But I can’t walk a dog by myself or clean up after it. Besides, I’m gonna be tripping over it all the time.”

Steve points out that he’s gonna be tripping over a cat too.

“Yeah. I don’t really know what other animals people have for pets. Can you look it up tomorrow?”

Tap, tap.

Next, Steve asks him how he feels about going to therapy.

“God, Steve, I ain’t in that bad of a situation.”

Steve reminds him how much the therapy had helped him deal with things. Regardless of how it ended, it did help him for a short while.

It’s on the tip of Bucky’s tongue to remind Steve that he still thinks Steve should resume therapy, but he doesn’t want this to end in a fight so he decides to leave that battle for another day. “I know it helped you, but it’s not like I can sit down with any therapist and start chatting. It ain’t that simple and you know it. I’d need a therapist who can finger spell. I don’t even know if people like that exist.”

Steve is quiet for a moment. He probably forgot about that issue. He asks Bucky if he’d be interested in therapy if he found the right kind of therapist.

Bucky shrugs. “Sure. You know I’ve never gone. And if I really don’t like it, I won’t keep going, but I’ll give it a try.”

Steve wraps one arm around his back and kisses him on the head. He tells Bucky that he’ll work on all of these things starting tomorrow.

Bucky smiles and rubs Steve’s chest. “Thank you, Stevie.”

Steve kisses his hand and then spells out: ‘End of the line, idiot’.

*             *             *

Steve lies awake for most of the night, guilt swirling around in his mind and preventing him from falling asleep.

He’s been focusing so much on himself lately that he hasn’t been aware that Bucky got stuck in a rut. In their unusual situation, Bucky is completely dependent on Steve to get himself out of that rut. Steve knows it’s good that he’s been moving forward, but he realizes he’d left Bucky behind at the last station, and that’s not the way they do things. Or at least, that’s not the way they’re _supposed_ to be doing things.

He likes the idea of getting a pet. Bucky’s always done well when he has somebody to take care of, and he’ll be able to interact more with a pet than his games.

Therapy would also be good for him, but Bucky was right—finding a therapist who can communicate with him properly and who Bucky gets along with will be difficult.

And one other thing had occurred to him. He thinks it’s actually a good sign that Bucky’s started to get bored more easily. It means his thoughts and actions are no longer purely focused on his disability. He’s comfortable enough with his body and his surroundings that he no longer has to devote all of his attention to what he’s doing every second of the day. Plus, his confidence has come a long, long way.

Steve thinks it’s time for them to learn braille.


	55. Chapter 55

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to meet the newest member of the Barnes-Rogers household!

Steve spends several days researching, but his own knowledge of taking care of pets is non-existent, so he makes a post on the deafblind forum he frequents and waits for replies.

That evening, he gets an interesting reply from an older lady—Rosita—who he speaks to often.

She’s deafblind but has some hearing and she tells him she’s had pet birds her entire life. She recommends getting a smaller bird like a parakeet or a cockatiel which require less complex care than the larger birds. She thinks Bucky would be able to handle it, especially if Steve is there to help him in the early days.

When Steve contacts the nearby animal shelter, he’s told that they have small birds available for adoption and they can come in any time to chat with the adoption coordinator and meet some of the birds. Eager to move things along, Steve asks Bucky when he wants to visit the shelter, but Bucky is hesitant.

“You go ahead. You’ll tell me what happens when you get home.”

Steve rubs his hand. “That ain’t living up to our ‘end of the line’ procedure, Buck. I want you to be part of this.”

Bucky gives him a soft smile and squeezes Steve’s hand. “Relax. I do wanna be part of this, but I don’t wanna sit there and not know what’s going on, and I don’t wanna take up people’s time if it takes you a long time to explain things to me. You go check things out first. If they have a bird for us, I’ll go with you when it’s time to bring it home.”

Steve is hesitant, but he finally agrees, telling Bucky he’ll go check things out that afternoon.

Bucky frowns. “Now? It’s a work day, Rogers.”

“I ain’t busy today.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Fine. But if your boss calls, you better pick up the phone. Also, you’re making up the time on Saturday.”

He taps on Bucky’s hand and spells out ‘Yes sir’.

Bucky’s frown dissolves into a grin. “Get out of here, you goof.” He rips his hand out of Steve’s grasp and smacks him on the leg.

Steve laughs and spells out ‘jerk’ on Bucky’s hand.

He lets Bucky know that he’s got a bowl of leftover stew in the icebox for lunch, reminds him to do his check-ins every 30 minutes and then he’s out the door, heading to the subway station. He takes the train to the shelter, where he’s greeted by Moeko Yamada, the adoption coordinator.

While Steve’s filling out the adoption application, he keeps his phone on the table next to him. When it vibrates, he glances at it and smiles when he sees Bucky’s duplicate check-in messages.

He still can’t quite wrap his head around the idea that Bucky’s home _alone_. Natasha isn’t babysitting him and Steve didn’t just step out to toss the garbage down the chute—Bucky’s home completely alone and he’s responsible for his own safety and wellbeing for several hours…

…and the best part is that Steve knows Bucky can handle it. Deaf, blind and he can handle it. That thought always makes Steve feel proud and he can’t help the smile that spreads over his face whenever he thinks about it.

Knowing Bucky’s okay makes it easier to focus on the paperwork, answering questions about who lives in their household, who will be taking care of the animal and what their prior experience with owning pets is.

When he’s done, Moeko takes him into her office and they discuss the application. She seems pleased by his answers on the form and is understanding about Bucky not having come to this initial visit. “I will have to meet Bucky before we can finalize the adoption, but today we can take the first steps.”

She lets him know that they have several cockatiels available for adoption. Thankfully Steve’s done some research so he knows what those are. “That would be great!”

“Would you like to see them?”

“Sure!”

When they stand up, Steve can feel his phone vibrate again. He discreetly pulls it out and sees Bucky’s check-in messages. That proud smile tug on his lips while he puts his phone away.

Good job, Barnes.

Time for Steve to focus, so he can also do a good job and have this outing be a success for both of them.

He and Moeko go down a hallway covered in large posters with cute animals and smiling people asking if he’d like to volunteer at the shelter. She pushes open one of the doors and they enter a large room that’s filled with cages and a lot of noise. There are a few very large, colorful birds, and there’s a big cage which contains four smaller grey birds. All of them are squawking, whistling and chirping, having very loud conversations.

Moeko brings him to the cage with the four grey birds. All of them are grey with white stripes on their wings. They’ve got bright yellow heads with striking orange cheeks, and they have a tall tuff of yellow feathers standing straight up on top of their heads.

They’re beautiful, elegant looking birds.

All four of them are very active—preening, squawking, nibbling on the toys hanging in their cages and flying back and forth between wooden rods and the cage walls.

They seem like happy, busy little guys.

“Three of them are male, and the one that’s got a greyer face is a female,” Moeko tells him.

Steve stares at them. How on earth is he supposed to choose between them?

Moeko must notice that he looks slightly panicked. She smiles kindly. “Don’t worry if they all seem the same. You can spend some time with them and see if any of them connect with you.”

She opens the cage door and Steve gingerly moves his hand inside. He’s tense—ready to yank his hand back if any of them bite, but they all ignore his hand.

“Move your hand up to one of them and see if they’ll climb on your hand. Push your finger into their belly and they’ll step up if they want to.”

Steve follows the instructions. One of the males shuffles away from Steve, but another male steps onto his finger, curling its talons around it. He pulls his hand out of the cage, carrying the little bird on his finger. Holding him up, he watches him prance back and forth along his finger, chirping and whistling and bobbing its head. He brings his other hand closer and gently strokes his belly. The bird seems to like that, letting out a pleased chirp.

Moeko’s watching him. “You’re very good with him. Do you mind if I ask whether you and Bucky have considered adopting a special needs bird?”

Steve can’t take his eyes off the bright orange of his cheeks. And that tall yellow crest on his head looks fantastic.

“Special needs?” The question takes him off guard. He pulls his attention away from the excited, prancing bird on his finger and looks at Moeko. “What do you mean?”

“We have some birds who have been rescued from abusive situations. They have some special needs—physical disabilities, emotional issues, medical problems—which require more care than average cockatiels. Would you be interested in seeing some of them?”

He’s already connecting with the little guy on his finger, but his heart aches as soon as he realizes that there might be other birds who need a home much more desperately. “Sure.”

Steve carefully puts the cockatiel back into his cage and gives the chirping foursome a little wave.

He follows Moeko into another room, and he immediately notices it’s a lot quieter in here. Unlike the cacophony of noise in the other room, the only sounds in here are a heater in the corner, and soft music playing through speakers on the ceiling.

There’s a fenced area filled with hay and plastic domed houses and he sees two brown rabbits darting around in the enclosure.

Moeko takes him to the only other item in the room—a small cage that’s sitting on a table. Before he can see inside, she stops him with a hand on his arm. “Before you see her, please keep in mind that she might not be the most attractive bird, but there’s nothing medically wrong with her. She’s missing a lot of feathers and some people assume she’s got a skin disease, but trust me, medically she’s fine.”

“Okay…”

Steve really doesn’t understand the need for the warning—until he steps closer to the cage…

…and sees the ugliest creature he’s ever laid eyes on.

He can barely tell it’s a bird. There’s a messy pile of broken and torn feathers huddled on a mat on the floor of the cage. The pile is rhythmically pulsating, which Steve realizes must be the creature breathing very rapidly, maybe out of fear, or maybe because the thing is half dead...? Maybe these are the creature’s last breaths of life?

The creature is covered in splotches of grey and white feathers, and bare skin. It takes him a second to even realize that he’s been staring right at her head without realizing that’s what it is.

She doesn’t have that proud yellow crest on her head—in fact, she’s got a bald spot where that crest should be. The left side of her face is completely devoid of feathers and her eye is scarred over. Her right side looks better—she’s got a functioning black eye on that side, which is staring right at Steve.

She does _not_ look impressed.

Steve stares at her and she stares at Steve.

Neither of them know what to say.

Well—maybe she knows what to say, but she looks like she considers Steve unworthy of her thoughts. Unlike the happy, active birds in the room next door, she’s not prancing around and chirping. She’s lying on the mat, huddled in on herself and glaring at Steve.

She really is the ugliest creature he’s ever seen.

“Is—I—What—what happened to her?”

Moeko steps up to the cage, slowly opens the door and gently lifts the pile of feathers and skin out of the cage.

The black eye keeps staring at Steve, other than that, she doesn’t react.

“This is Maggie. She’s about 12 years old and she spent most of her life—or maybe all of it—in a hoarder’s house. She lived in a tiny cage which wasn’t cleaned for years. She suffered from multiple rashes and skin infections due to the conditions, that’s why she’s missing a lot of her plumage. She was also plucking—that’s when birds harm themselves by tearing out their own feathers due to stress. We’re guessing the left side of her face got infected and she rubbed it on the cage bars for so long that she lost sight in that eye completely, plus she lost her feathers on that side of her face. The rubbing is probably how she lost her crest too. She’s not vocal and she’s never made any effort to fly. Honestly, we think she never got the opportunity to try flying—being in that tiny cage her whole life—and she just never learned. We don’t know why she doesn’t vocalize. She could, she just chooses not to.”

Steve’s frowning. “Why are you guys keeping her in such a tiny cage?”

Moeko lifts Maggie up and that’s when Steve notices that she’s only got one foot. The other foot is just a stump.

“She’d been standing in several inches of her own waste for so long that her foot was severely infected. We had to amputate it when we rescued her. It’s too difficult for her to get around in a large cage.”

Steve stares at the little creature in Moeko’s arms.

Maggie hasn’t moved much. She’s breathing…and glaring at Steve with her one good eye.

“Why are you keeping her separated from the others?”

“She doesn’t do well with other birds. Before she was rescued, she’d been sharing her cage with a few other birds. Let’s just say that she was the only one still alive when we got to her. She’s extremely reactive to other birds. She’s not the most affectionate when it comes to humans, but she’s not aggressive with people. With patience, time and love, she might become more social and affectionate.”

 Steve notices she’d said ‘might’.

Maggie might be so traumatized by her past that she might never do more than glare at Steve. He doubts she’ll ever be like the happy, active cockatiels in the other room.

…

But that’s okay.

Maggie deserves a loving, stable home, and Steve knows he and Bucky can provide that for her.

But—he definitely has to talk to Bucky about this first. Maybe Bucky would prefer to have one of the easy-going, happy cockatiels from the other room, and the whole point of this is for Bucky to have a friend he’ll enjoy spending time with. He’ll get all the information about Maggie and then let Bucky make the final decision.

“What—what medical conditions does she have?”

Moeko smiles. “Actually, medically speaking, she’s 100%. When she’s in a warm, dry environment, she’ll need moisturizer applied to her bare patches, but she’s healthy.” She holds Maggie up. “Would you like to hold her?”

Steve doubts that Maggie wants him to hold her, but he’ll give it a shot. “Sure.”

He holds up his hands and Moeko carefully transfers Maggie into his hands. Maggie shifts around a bit, but otherwise doesn’t seem to care. He pulls her closer and cradles her against his sweater.

No reaction.

The ball of ugliness just keeps breathing and staring suspiciously around the room.

“What do you think?” Moeko asks. She sounds cautiously hopeful.

“How long has she been waiting for a home?”

“She was rescued 18 months ago. It took 5 months until she was medically stable and then we put her up for adoption.”

“So a year?”

“Yeah. Animals with special needs are always the hardest to place, and honestly, the less attractive and older ones are even harder.”

“She’s got the worst of all worlds, huh?”

“Yeah. It doesn’t help that she’s not openly affectionate.”

Steve smiles down at Maggie. “You hear that, Maggie? You ain’t advertising yourself well at all.”

Moeko lets out a laugh. “No, she doesn’t. I’m pretty sure she thinks that she’s put in more than enough effort at staying alive for the past 12 years and now she doesn’t owe anybody anything.”

Steve grins. He understands and appreciates this little bird’s attitude. She’s a fighter.

She’d fit right into their family.

But first…

“Aside from the moisturizer, what other special care does she need?”

“It doesn’t seem to bother her that she’s only got one eye. As long as you move slowly around her and don’t startle her, her sight isn’t an issue. The big problem is her inability to walk properly. She can’t stand on the stump properly, and even when she tries, it’s painful. She can walk short distances by hopping, or she’ll use her beak to help when she’s really tired. But in general, she can only move on her own for short distances. Birds typically remain on their feet all the time, but Maggie can’t. Whether she’s in a cage or not, she’ll need a comfortable place to lie down. You’ll need to carry her around and help transfer her from place to place.”

That doesn’t sound too hard. “So she’ll need a pillow or something?”

Moeko presses her lips together. “Well—she’ll—you know what? If you and Bucky think you’d like to adopt her, I’ll help you put together a list. She’ll need a housing environment that’s been specifically set up for her. A lot of things that non-disabled birds need won’t be useful for her—or worse, they’d make her life more difficult. But she’s tough—as long as you get her set up and show her how things should be done, she can handle things herself.”

Steve’s been staring down at the grey ball of feathers in his hands while Moeko’s been talking. He knows two people who are the same.

Their names are Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. She’d definitely fit right in with them.

“I’ll talk to Bucky about it and see what he thinks, but at this point I won’t make any promises.”

Moeko’s smiling. She looks pleased. “Just the fact that you’re considering it is huge.”

She helps him put Maggie back into her cage and they head towards the front door. “Steve—I wanna say a couple more things.”

He stops. “Sure.”

“Sometimes people’s hearts are bigger than their schedules have room for. I know Bucky’s situation is time consuming for you both and you mentioned that you’re working. Please make sure you’ll have enough time to devote to Maggie. She deserves to have her family spend lots of time with her.”

“Absolutely. I know we have the time. And if she joins the family, then we’ll make time.”

She smiles softly. “Okay. Also, I want you to understand—and please explain to Bucky—that no matter how much you love her, how well you take care of her, her disabilities and physical appearance aren’t going to change. If she were younger, there might a chance that some of her plumage might grow back, but we don’t believe that’ll happen at this stage. What you see with Maggie is exactly what you get. There’s no shame in wanting to have a pet that’s attractive and nice to look at. Please consider very carefully if you’re sure you won’t mind her physical appearance.”

Steve grins. “Moeko, I know you don’t know me and Bucky very well, but trust me—both of us have learned that what’s inside a person’s heart is a lot more important.”

*             *             *

Bucky anxiously sits at the table, playing with the spoon in his empty stew bowl and waiting for the motion sensor to let him know that Steve’s come home. He knows he could do the dishes or something else, but he’s too excited. He’s going to have a new friend soon! Somebody new who he can devote time and attention to, without disturbing Steve’s work.

He’s so excited that he nearly forgets to check the time, so one of his check-ins is 5 minutes late, but hopefully Steve is too busy to notice.

Finally, the motion sensor vibrates. It’s the front door, which means Steve’s home!

He gets up from the table and hurries to the door. “Rogers! Tell me everything! Hurry up!” He doesn’t get his arm up in time so he slams right into Steve, who steadies him with hands around his waist.

Bucky grabs for Steve’s hand and jostles it, eager for Steve to start spelling. “Come on, talk to me. Hurry up!”

Steve squeezes his hand and a kiss is pressed to his cheek. He tells Bucky to hang on. He’s too hot.

Hot? Oh, Steve needs to get his winter clothes off. Bucky runs his hand up Steve’s chest, finds his hat and yanks it off his head. He grabs Steve’s scarf and starts pulling on it—then Steve’s hand is on his, taking his hand off the scarf and gently pushing him away.

Oh, fine.

“I’ll be on the couch since you don’t want my help. Hurry up!”

Bucky’s just had time to make himself comfortable on the couch, when it dips next to him and Steve settles into the space. Bucky holds out his hand.

“So? Did you find a bird?”

Tap.

“When is he coming home?”

Steve correct him, pointing out it’s a female bird.

“Oh, okay. When is she coming home?”

Steve squeezes his hand. He tells Bucky to slow down and they need to discuss the situation first. They need to choose which bird they want to adopt. He tells Bucky that there are several normal birds but there’s also a disabled bird.

"A what?"

Steve clarifies that the bird is crippled.

“Rogers, I don’t care—you choose whatever will work better.”

Rub, rub, rub. Steve tells him _he_ has to choose.

“Why do I gotta choose? I didn’t even see the birds.”

Steve tells him that he will care—

Bucky interrupts him, already knowing what Steve is spelling. “I just told you I don’t care. I—”

Rub, rub, rub. Steve jostles his hand and tells him to slow down and listen. Steve reminds him that Bucky will be responsible for caring for the bird. Steve will help, but it’ll mainly be Bucky’s responsibility. That’s the whole point of this.

“Are you worried cause you think it’s too hard to take care of a bird? Well, that’s dumb. You know what I can and can’t do. If you think I can do it, then I can do it. If you think it’s too hard, we’ll come up with something else.”

Rub, rub, rub. Steve tells him he’s not worried, he knows Bucky can do it.

“So if you ain’t worried about that, what’s the problem?”

Steve again tells him that one of the birds is crippled.

“Yeah, one of the birds is a cripple. What about it?”

Steve says the bird will need special care.

“Do you think I can do the special care?”

Tap, tap, tap.

“Okay. Then that’s fine. So the bird needs special care—so what? I need special care. You need special care. Everybody needs special care. Steve, none of that matters. If you think I could take of all of those birds, then I think we should pick whichever one needs a home more.”

Steve does their signal for ‘Okay’.

“Okay? That’s it? Alright, fine, which one do you want?”

Steve wants the crippled one.

“Okay. Is that the one you think needs a home more?”

Tap, tap, tap.

“Alright. Decision’s made. By the way, does ‘cripple’ have a name or is that what we’re calling her? Because I gotta tell ya, that might confuse things around here.” Bucky bursts out laughing at his own joke and Steve shoves him in the shoulder. The punk is probably groaning. Steve squeezes the back of his neck, jostling him, then returns to his hand and spells her name.

“Maggie?”

Tap.

“Alright. So Maggie’s the winner. Let’s hope she’s as excited as us. So when can we get her?”

Steve tells him to have patience. There’s steps they have to follow to make sure everything goes well.

*             *             *

The process of bringing Maggie home is a lot more complicated than Steve had thought—partly due to Bucky’s disabilities and partly due to Maggie’s disabilities.

They go back to the shelter the next day so Moeko can meet Bucky, and if she approves, then Bucky can meet Maggie. Bucky asks Steve to pick out his nicest clothes for him to wear and spends time fussing with his hair. Steve can tell he’s nervous—he’s constantly fiddling with the hem of his sweater.

When they arrive at the shelter, Moeko comes towards them. “Hi Steve! This must be Bucky.”

“Hi! It’s good to see you again. Yes, this is Bucky.”

Steve waits until she’s close enough, then he gently steps on Bucky’s foot. That’s Bucky’s cue to lift his hand and smile. “Hello, Moeko. My name’s Bucky.”

She takes his hand and they shake. “Nice to meet you. Steve’s told me a lot of lovely things about you.”

Bucky’s nodding along and smiling at her. Moeko probably hasn’t realizing that Bucky hadn’t heard her, but that’s okay. Steve doesn’t expect her to get the hang of how to communicate with Bucky within 30 seconds of meeting him.

They have more important things to do anyway. They follow Moeko towards the office with Bucky using his cane and Steve guiding. They’re in unfamiliar territory, and Bucky had made it clear—his main priority is making a good impression on Moeko. He doesn’t care about learning the layout of the place or about being included in the conversation.

“This ain’t about me, Steve. It’s about Maggie. We gotta remember that.”

Steve had argued—he wants Bucky involved in the conversation and if that means the conversation takes 3 hours, that’s how it’ll be. But Bucky had shaken his head. “This is what I want. Please.”

Steve guides Bucky into the office and helps him into the seat that’s right in front of Moeko. He picks that chair so Bucky can stare straight ahead and appear to be making eye contact with her.

Bucky keeps that pleasant smile on his face, waiting for cues from Steve. Steve puts his right arm on the table and keeps the left one on his thigh—where Bucky’s hand is waiting to listen.

“Thanks for seeing us again on such short notice,” he says.

Moeko smiles. “Have you discussed who you’d like to adopt?”

“Yes. We both agreed that we think we can give Maggie the kind of home she deserves.”

Her eyes light up. “So you’ve discussed her disabilities and the specialized care that she’ll require?”

“Yes, I told Bucky everything.”

Moeko turns her attention on Bucky. She falters a bit and glances at Steve. “Can he hear me at all?” She whispers.

Steve struggles not to laugh. He really can’t help it. He knows some people are uncomfortable around Bucky, but that attitude has always floored him, after all: how can anybody be uncomfortable around Bucky Barnes? That’s just not possible.

Anyway. “No, he can’t. But I’ll interpret if you need to ask him something.”

“Oh. Okay.” It’s clear she doesn’t understand what he means. That’s okay. Steve has to tread lightly—he doesn’t want to embarrass either Bucky or Moeko. They’re here for Maggie.

Moeko turns back to Bucky. “So, Bucky. You understand about Maggie’s disabilities?”

Steve squeezes Bucky’s hand to make sure he’s paying attention, and spells out the question onto Bucky’s hand, using the abbreviations they had practiced last night specifically for this conversation. Bucky wants the conversation to appear as normal as possible, so Steve’s main focus is doing the interpreting fast but accurately enough to allow Bucky to understand what’s going on.

Because Bucky’s amazing, he understands exactly what ‘U U-N-D-R-S-T-AND A-B-T M-A-G D-I-S-A’ means.

Bucky smiles in Moeko’s direction. “Yes, I understand she’s crippled. She’s missing an eye and missing a leg and feathers. That’s all okay. We can take care of her.”

“Great. So you understand she’ll require specialized care? Things will need to be adapted to make her comfortable.”

Steve interprets as quickly as he can. He’s getting much better at it, but it’s still quite stressful. Bucky’s completely dependent on Steve interpreting properly and whether Bucky embarrasses himself or not is entirely in Steve’s hands.

Literally.

“Yes, I understand she needs special care. We can give her the special care she needs.”

She’s making notes. “And Steve has indicated that you’re both home a lot. Is that the case?”

Bucky understands Steve’s abbreviations seamlessly. “Yes, I’m home a lot and Steve is home a lot too. We go out for walks when Steve isn’t working, but only for a few hours.”

“You’re aware that her disabilities are permanent? Her disabilities and physical appearance aren’t going to improve, regardless of how much love and attention she’s given.”

That takes Steve a while to interpret, but he manages.

Bucky nods. “It don’t matter to me what she looks like or what she can’t do. It’s more important that she feels loved, and that’s something we’re good at.”

Moeko seems satisfied. She closes their file and smiles at them. “That’s all the questions I had. If you’re ready, you can meet Maggie and we can go over the next steps.”

Bucky’s face lights up as soon as Steve tells him they’re going to meet Maggie. “Great! Okay, let’s go meet Maggie.”

Steve steers Bucky out of the office and down the hallway. Bucky’s so excited that he’s barely restraining himself from getting ahead of Steve—despite the fact that he has no idea where he’s going.

They enter the quiet room from yesterday, Steve steers Bucky around the rabbit enclosure on the floor and stops by Maggie’s cage. She’s in the exact same position that Steve had left her in, huddling on the mat on the floor of the cage.

“Hi, Maggie. It’s me again. I’m here to introduce you to your new best friend,” Steve says, unlatching the cage door and reaching in to gently scoop her up.

Like they’d practiced, Bucky has put his cane into his holster and he’s holding his hand close to his chest, waiting.

“Here we go, Buck. Here’s Maggie,” Steve says, carefully transferring the pile of grey feathers and skin into Bucky’s hand.

Bucky smiles as soon as he feels her, looking absolutely delighted. “Hello, Maggie! Hello! My name’s Bucky. Hello!” He cradles her to his chest but otherwise doesn’t move, not wanting to risk frightening or hurting her.

Maggie doesn’t seem to care about the commotion—she’s lying huddled in Bucky’s hand, her shoulders pulled up around her head, her one eye glaring at the world.

Steve lets Bucky talk to Maggie for a bit. It’s clear that Maggie might not hate either of them, but she doesn’t seem excited about them either. She seems annoyed and unimpressed by the proceedings.

On the other hand, Moeko seems satisfied. “Alright, I’m happy. We can go sign the rest of the paperwork. Steve, I wanted to ask you if you’re comfortable getting all of her supplies on your own, or if you’d like me to accompany you.”

Steve blinks. “Oh, we’d love some help. We’ve been doing research on what a bird needs, but I’m guessing a lot of that wouldn’t apply to Maggie.”

“No. She’ll need a specialized set up. If you don’t mind waiting, once we close up, I can drive us to the pet store.”

Steve grins. “That would be great.”

Steve gently takes Maggie back from Bucky and puts her back into her cage. “Soon, Maggie. Soon. I promise. We gotta get you stuff first.”

*             *             *

Following their successful shopping trip with Moeko, they follow her advice and take all their supplies home to get things set up for Maggie. Bucky spends the entire evening touching everything, making sure he knows where everything is. He’s terrified that he’s going to accidentally knock over Maggie’s cage.

“Buck, you’ll be fine. Her cage is out of the way, it’s on that small table, there’s no wobble in it and even if you bump into the table or the cage, that won’t make the cage fall off.”

“Uh huh. Let me practice some more. You go to bed if you want, but I’m gonna keep going for a bit.”

The next morning, they grab the plastic carrier and head off to bring Maggie home. Along with Moeko, there are three other women waiting to greet them when they come in the door. Steve momentarily panics, worried about freaking Bucky out. Before he has time to freak out, Moeko is stepping forward and Steve focuses on handling introductions.

Bucky greets Moeko with no issues, and then she’s introducing her other colleagues. Since Maggie had been a long term resident at the shelter, the whole staff has shown up to see her off.

The first woman steps forward, introduces herself and shakes Steve’s hand, then holds her hand out to Bucky. Steve discreetly steps on Bucky’s foot and spells out the woman’s name on his palm. He doesn’t have time to spell anything else, but Bucky catches on quickly.

His friendly smile doesn’t waver and he smoothly finds her hand, shakes it, greets her by name and launches into his usual polite small-talk. Once she releases his hand, Bucky moves it back to Steve, who tells him about the next woman who has stepped forward. They smoothly move through the unexpected introductions and Steve couldn’t be prouder of both of them.

They follow Moeko into her office where they sign the final paperwork, and then they’re finally ready to get Maggie. Steve steers Bucky to the back room and carefully transfers their disgruntled new family member into the plastic carrier. Bucky has to hold his cane, so Steve carries Maggie.

The staff all say goodbye to Maggie and Moeko’s smile could power a house. “Good luck! I’ll know you’ll do great, and if you guys have any questions or concerns, just give me a call.”

“Great. Thank you, Moeko. You’ve been a big help.”

“No, thank _you_. Maggie’s been waiting for a family for 12 years—believe me, it’s always an honor to meet families like yours.”

They say their goodbyes, promise to call and email with updates, and get into a hackie to head home. As soon as they get home, Steve transfers Maggie into her new cage, setting her down on one of the platforms which they’ve covered with a soft plastic wrapped mat.

She’s got her filled water and food bowls hanging off the edge of the platform and Bucky’s already made her a beaded toy that’s hanging from the ceiling of the cage. He closes the cage door and backs up.

Bucky’s sitting on the couch, staring in the cage’s direction. He’d washed his cane while Steve was getting Maggie settled and then he’d sat on the couch, not wanting to risk bumping into Steve while he’s holding her.

Steve sinks down next to him and squeezes his hand.

“What’s she doing, Steve?”

Steve snorts. “Nothing.”

“Well, I guess that’s normal. We gotta leave her in peace now for a few hours, right?”

“Yup.” He taps on Bucky’s hand.

Bucky makes a face.

Bucky Barnes—the cuddle monster—not liking the idea of not being able to cuddle his newest family member. Steve knows if it were up to Bucky, he’d pick Maggie up and not put her down for a year.

Steve picks up Bucky’s hand and tells him that Steve doesn’t mind being a replacement cuddle.

Bucky’s frown immediately turns into a grin. “Well, if I can’t cuddle Maggie, I suppose you’ll do. Come here.”

Bucky twists so he’s lying lengthwise on the couch. Steve sprawls over him and Bucky wraps his arm around his back.

“Don’t think I don’t know that it’s a work day, and you still have stuff to do today.”

Steve chuckles and taps Bucky’s chest.

“But this is more important. If your boss complains, you can tell him it’s all my fault.”

Steve relaxes against Bucky and stares at Maggie in her cage.

Welcome home, Maggie.


	56. Chapter 56

They leave Maggie alone until the next morning.

Bucky wakes before Steve and makes his way into the living room. He cautiously makes his way to the cage and pulls off the blanket off. “Good morning, Maggie! Today’s your first full day in the Rogers-Barnes household.”

He carefully opens the cage door and finds the ramp leading up to the first platform. His fingers run up the ramp and he checks the food bowl. It’s still full of pellets. In fact, it feels the same as Bucky had left it last night. “That’s not good, Maggie. Why didn’t you eat anything?”

He carefully runs his fingers over the platform until he bumps into something soft and warm. “There you are! Good morning, darling.”

He gently strokes the small patch of feathers right under his fingers. He doesn’t want to stress her out so he slowly withdraws his hand and closes the cage.

He makes his way into the bedroom and climbs back into bed to get his watch.

It’s still ten minutes before Steve usually wakes up, so Bucky makes himself comfortable and waits.

When he feels Steve stirring, he tugs on his shirt. “Steve, Maggie didn’t eat anything. Can you help me get her out so we can check if she pooped?”

Tap.

They make their way back to the cage and Steve hands Bucky the small cat pillow they’d bought for holding Maggie and gives him a shove towards the couch. Moments after sitting down, Bucky feels something slightly weighing down the pillow on his lap. He runs his hand along the pillow and gently touches the small creature lying on top. “Hi, Maggie. Good morning! You’re probably too stressed to eat yet, right?”

He gently strokes her side, avoiding any bare areas. He feels Steve touch his shoulder. “Did she poop?”

Rub.

Bucky makes a face.

Steve squeezes his shoulder. He turns Bucky’s hand over and tells him that Maggie will need time to adjust.

“Yeah, I know.”

He strokes Maggie a little more, then Steve puts her back into her cage and they get ready for their day. While making breakfast, Steve cuts up fresh vegetables into tiny chunks and puts them in a covered bowl in the icebox. Bucky will give her the vegetables for lunch.

After breakfast, Steve starts work and Bucky does the dishes. He spends time working on an art project and talking to Maggie. Steve tells him he’s turned on the radio to play some soft music. It doesn’t bother Steve when he’s working and hopefully it’ll help Maggie feel more comfortable.

While Steve makes lunch, Bucky takes out a new food bowl for Maggie and fills it with some of the cut up vegetables. He carefully hangs it in the cage, right next to the bowl of pellets. He touches the pellets with a finger.

Still the same.

Steve takes Maggie out for a few minutes while he’s making dinner and hands her to Bucky, who sits with her on the couch and chats with her. When it’s bed time, Bucky takes out the bowl of vegetables. They’ve gone soft over the hours and all the pieces are still there. He shuts the cage door, double checking that it’s secure.

“You have a good night, Maggie. I know today’s been scary, but hopefully you’ll feel more comfortable tomorrow. Or maybe you need more time, and that’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow, darling.”

He carefully drapes the blanket over the cage and heads to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

He wakes up a few hours later when he’s shaken by Steve.

“Wh—”

Steve’s hand covers his mouth.

Bucky waits, trying to wake up properly.

Steve’s pulling Bucky’s hand out from under the pillow.

He tells him that he can hear Maggie eating.

Bucky breaks into a giant grin and surge of happiness blooms in his belly. He wants to say something, but he doesn’t want to make any noise that’ll scare Maggie into stopping.

Bucky settles for grabbing Steve’s hand and jostling it. Steve jostles right back, clearly just as excited as Bucky.

*             *             *

As Maggie gets more comfortable, so does Bucky.

He reminds Steve that he understands Steve cares about Maggie, but the whole point of getting Maggie was to give Bucky more things to do, not add to Steve’s huge list of responsibilities. He starts every morning by taking the blanket off Maggie’s cage and getting the coffee machine going. While Steve prepares breakfast, Bucky takes care of Maggie.

Bucky learns how to gently pick Maggie up and take her out of the cage without Steve’s help. He takes her out and settles her on the cat pillow on the couch while he cleans her cage. He washes and refills her water bowl and picks out any vegetables bits which have migrated into the pellet bowl and mixes fresh pellets in. He removes the plastic wrapped mats which line the bottom of the cage and the platforms and takes them into the bathroom to wash and dry them. Once everything is returned to Maggie’s cage, he goes to do his stretches or use the exercise bike. He had just enough time to jump into the shower before breakfast is ready.

When Maggie’s not in her cage, she spends her days relaxing on the pillow close to Bucky or lying on his lap.

She’s not interested in playing with anything that Bucky offers and she refuses to touch the spray millet treats, but after the first week, Bucky notices whenever he reaches his hand into the cage, she’s pushed herself into a standing position, standing on one leg, ready to be lifted up.

That’s a positive sign.

Maggie gets a bowl of vegetables at lunch time, and she has access to the bowl for the rest of the day. Some days she seems to like them—making a mess in the cage—but other days she doesn’t touch any. Sometimes Bucky will sit on the couch with Maggie lying in the folds of his sweater. He talks to her, telling her about his planned art project or regaling her with stories from childhood. When he’s working on an art project or playing a game, Maggie is by his side, lying on her pillow.

Bucky hopes she’s content. He thinks it’s good that she’s not displaying any signs of being scared or angry, and she’s eating and drinking normally.

After 12 years, hopefully Maggie is satisfied with her surroundings.

As for Bucky—his feelings about Maggie are mixed.

He absolutely adores her and even though she isn’t outgoing, it makes a big difference for Bucky to have a living, breathing friend next to him who he can talk to and pet whenever he wants. Steve’s work days are going by a bit faster for Bucky.

But that’s the problem—the more time goes by, the more aware Bucky becomes of how ridiculous his situation is. He thought his only issue was being bored and unstimulated while Steve was working, but now that he has Maggie, he should be feeling content again.

But he’s not.

The situation really becomes clear to him one random afternoon when Bucky’s playing Ludo at the table with Maggie, and Steve comes to tell him that lunch will be a little late today because he’s got a big report he needs to finish.

“Okay, no problem,” Bucky says.

He’s a bit distracted because he’d just rolled a five for Maggie, which made her playing piece boot one of Bucky’s off the board and force it back to the starting area.

Again.

The damn woman is gonna win again!

That’s when his thoughts stutter to a halt.

What the hell is he doing?!

Really—what the _hell_ is he doing?!

The ridiculousness of his existence hits him the face all at once.

Is this what his life has become? Playing games and doing art projects while Steve does a full-time job and takes care of nearly all the household chores?

And Bucky’s become so… _nonchalant_ about it!

‘Okay, no problem’, he’d said. Like he was telling Steve it’s okay for Bucky to get his lunch twenty minutes later than normal because Steve has an important job deadline. Like Steve had asked for his permission to be late with lunch!

That’s—that’s ridiculous.

But what the hell can he do about it? Should he whine and complain about not pulling his own weight? Well, that’s a fact, isn’t it? He _can’t_ pull his own weight. He can’t just walk out the door and find a job, can he? He can’t decide to do the cooking from now on, can he?

He’d need Steve’s help with all those things, which would defeat the purpose.

So then what’s the solution?

He fiddles with the dice that’s clutched in his hand and thinks it over.

After a few minutes of not getting any good ideas, he decides the least he can do is create as little of a fuss about things as possible. No more complaining to Steve that he’s bored. No more whining about the fact that he can’t work or help with more chores. He needs to maintain a pleasant, cheerful and grateful attitude. That’s the least he can do in his current state.

“Steve? Listen, I ain’t real hungry right now anyway. You take your time with your report and I’m fine eating lunch whenever. Mags is keeping me busy here with our game.” He remembers at the last second to put a cheerful smile on his face too.

There’s no response from Steve, but just in case Steve’s watching him, Bucky keeps the smile on his face for a little longer and he finds the tray and rolls the dice with more enthusiasm than required. He counts the plastic nubs on the top surface of the dice.

“A three! That’s great!”

He’s careful to not seem too enthusiastic, but he has to be enthusiastic enough that Steve will think everything’s normal. Because things _are_ normal. This is their new normal. No matter how much that thought makes him want to throw up—this is their new normal.

A small voice in his head admonishes him for lying to Steve, but he pushes it aside. This isn’t lying. This is him doing a better job at being grateful for the many things Steve does for him. That’s all.

As long as Bucky doesn’t overdo his enthusiasm and his cheerfulness, Steve won’t think anything’s wrong, and he won’t ask any questions, so Bucky won’t have to lie about how he’s doing.

It’s not a perfect plan, but it’s all he’s got for now.

*             *             *

“Hello?”

“Steve?”

“Yeah, Nat?”

“Check your email. I sent you forms. You need to fill them out faster than you’ve ever filled out forms before and Bucky needs to sign all seven pages.”

He frowns. “The ones from yesterday? I already sent—”

“No, not those. I got those. These are new ones.”

Steve swallows the urge to say ‘again?’. He always knew when he and Natasha started on their quest to get Bucky his back pay there would be a ton of paperwork.

He hadn’t realized there would literally be a ton. “Okay. You sound out of breath.”

“I’m walking to a meeting right now. That’s why I need the forms.”

“You need help? I can be in Manhattan in—”

She snorts. “Do I need your temper and your attitude for this meeting? No, Rogers, I don’t.”

“Okay.”

“Forms. Now. Hurry.”

And the line goes dead.

Steve switches to his laptop and opens his email. The forms are the kind you can fill out on the computer, which have quickly become his favourite kind. He’s a huge fan of writing things by hand, but filling out the same information a dozen times is boring.

He quickly fills out Bucky’s information—his personal information, his family information and his military information. He’s pretty sure he knows more official numbers related to Bucky’s military career than Bucky does. He’s filled out so many of these forms that he only needs to double check a few of the numbers before he prints the pages out.

He grabs the small plastic [signature guide](https://www.maxiaids.com/signature-guide-key-chain-super-deluxe-plastic) off his desk and brings it to the table with the forms. Once everything is set up, he goes to get Bucky.

When he’d first realized that Bucky would need to sign many of these forms, he’d had a debate with himself whether to lie to Bucky about them or not. He really wants to make Bucky’s birthday present a good surprise, and he’s still worried about crushing Bucky if the whole thing falls flat.

But he’d quickly realized that lying to Bucky about what he’s signing is a huge betrayal of his trust. Steve knows he’s not making Bucky sign something that will hurt him, but having Bucky think he’s signing something while he’s really signing something else would be betraying him. Steve absolutely can’t be taking advantage of Bucky’s lack of sight like that.

So he tells Bucky that the forms are part of a surprise. If Bucky really wants to know what they’re for, Steve will tell him, but he thinks Bucky will like the surprise.

Bucky loves surprises, so he agrees to remain blissfully ignorant.

A few days after starting their mission, Natasha had reminded Steve to add Bucky to his bank account. The money will—hopefully—be deposited into the bank, and Bucky will need to have an account set up to receive it. Steve decides to be a bit sneaky and he tells Bucky he wants to add him to his account so Bucky can easily access it if something happens to Steve. That’s completely true and it’s something Steve should have done a while ago anyway, but it’s not the whole story. It’s much easier than Steve thought it would be. They go to the bank, Bucky signs papers and they move Steve’s funds into a new joint account and that’s the end of it.

Now they just need to get the money that will go into the new account, which means Bucky needs to sign more papers.

Steve goes to get Bucky where he’s watering his Lamb’s Ear plant. He knows they have to hurry, so he waits until Bucky’s lowered his watering bottle, then he touches his hand.

“Oh, hi, Stevie.” Bucky’s still holding the watering bottle, but he holds out his pinky finger and touches Steve’s wrist to feel the bracelet. “I’m just water—”

Steve takes the bottle out of his hand. “I know, Buck. Sorry, but we gotta hurry.” He tells Bucky that Natasha wants him to sign some forms as quickly as possible.

Bucky nods, his face growing serious. “Okay. I’m ready. Guide me to the table.”

Steve leads him to the table, helps him sit down and hands him the pen. He puts Bucky’s hand over a blank sheet of paper and waits for him to scribble his signature a few times, holding the paper steady as he practices.

“How’s that? Good, or more practice?”

It actually looks pretty good, probably because he’s been getting so much practice lately. Steve taps Bucky’s hand. He takes the sheet of paper away, knowing Bucky can feel it.

He slides the first of the official forms under Bucky’s hand and places the signature guide over the signature spot. The card is a mini version of the slotted writing guide which Bucky uses to write larger things. This guide only has one little slit and it’s small enough to cover the space needed to sign forms. Since it needs to be placed over different parts of papers, it doesn’t come with a clip, but Steve can hold it steady while Bucky uses it.

He adjusts Bucky’s hand, the pen, the paper and the guide to get everything lined up properly. Bucky doesn’t move a muscle, letting Steve move his hand to the exact spot he wants, and then freezing.

When Steve is satisfied, he gently taps Bucky’s thigh, indicating he can start writing. He holds the guide steady, watching Bucky frown in concentration and stare off into the distance while he slowly and carefully signs his name.

He lifts the pen when he’s finished and waits for Steve’s verdict.

Steve lifts the guide and inspects the signature. “Perfect, Buck.” He taps Bucky’s hand a few times, then grabs the next piece of paper. He takes Bucky’s hand and gets everything lined up for page number two.

*             *             *

“Hey, Nat. More papers?”

“Nope, not today. I’m calling for another reason. What would Buck think about me taking him out for a date?”

Steve blinks. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Steve laughs. “Yeah, I heard you, but…”

“Aw, are you jealous, Rogers? Don’t worry, I’ll be a lady the entire time. Buck doesn’t have any virtue to protect anyway, but if he did, it would be safe with me.”

Steve chuckles, but he’s still confused. “You wanna take us out for a date?”

“No, I wanna take _Buck_ out for a date. Not that I don’t love you, but you and I chat all the time and I rarely get to spend time with Buck without you there. I don’t mind having you there, but it’s hard to gossip about you when you’re peeking at our hands.”

“I don’t peek at your hands!”

“Yes, you do. And you get grumpy when you see how quickly I can talk,” she says, laughing. Then she grows serious again. “Listen, if you’re not comfortable, then forget it, but I thought it would be good for Buck.”

“Where would you guys go?”

“To Brighton. There are tons of Russian restaurants down there and I have my own favourite. It’s got great food and I thought Buck might like having some Russian food again.”

That makes Steve pause. Alarm bells go off in his head and he doesn’t like any of this. “Nat, I don’t know if it’s a good idea to have Buck around Russian things.”

“You realize he’s around a Russian thing every time he’s around me, right?”

He scowls. “That ain’t the same thing. You don’t speak Russian to him and you know the trigger words so you wouldn’t ever unintentionally trigger him. Besides, that’s—that’s ambitious. Going to Brighton means a subway transfer, a lot of walking and Buck’s feeling okay about eating out in restaurants, but it’s still a bit complicated.”

“I know you’re worried, but I think we can do it. But that’s all beside the point. You wanna ask Buck what he thinks about all this?”

Steve makes a face. He knows Bucky will want to go and that irrational voice in his head is telling him: no, no, no. It’s too dangerous. There are too many things that can go wrong.

“Do you want me to go over there and ask Buck myself? Because you know I will.”

“Oh, I know you will, despite me not liking it.”

“Yup. And I wouldn’t do it just to annoy you, but I promise you, I think this would be great for Buck and it would be a really fun day.”

Steve realizes his hands are tied. A small voice in his head points out that Nat is more right than she gave herself credit for. Does Steve have the right to not tell Bucky things if other people ask him to relay information to Bucky? Does Steve have the right to prevent Bucky from going out with Natasha or anybody else for any reason?

He pushes those thoughts aside. They’re irrelevant and silly. He’s looking out for Bucky’s safety and well-being. That’s his responsibility as a caregiver. End of discussion.

“Fine, I’ll ask him if he wants to go, but I’m gonna make my opinion about it clear. I think he’ll realize that it’s a bit too much, Nat. Maybe in a few months he’ll be ready, but not now.”

*             *             *

“To Brighton? With Nat? Just Nat?”

Tap, tap.

Bucky grins. He loves that idea. “That’s fantastic! When’s she picking me up? Or can you walk me to the station?”

Steve gives his hand a hard jostle, and that make some of Bucky’s excitement fade. Steve’s tense and not happy about this.

“What’s wrong?”

Steve thinks it’s too dangerous.

“What? Why?” But he gets it right away. “Oh, the Russian angle?” He opens his mouth to tell Steve that he agrees—it’s too dangerous…but then he pauses.

“But I can’t get triggered, right? That’s the whole point of this,” he says, gesturing at his own face. “First, I don’t know the Russian manual alphabet, so if somebody starts using those letters, I wouldn’t understand it. Second, even if somebody tries spelling the words phonetically, using the letter signals I know, I just turn my brain off and stop paying attention. Their fingers would just be moving on my hand. That’s the whole reason I did this Steve. It was a stupid and rash decision, sure, but it wasn’t based on baloney. Before, somebody could force me to look or listen to the trigger words and I wouldn’t have any power to keep them from getting into my brain, but when somebody’s spelling, I’ve got a lot more power. I have to make an effort to pay attention and turn the signals into letters and then words.”

Bucky thinks it over a bit more. “Plus, I don’t even know if I could be triggered by somebody spelling out the words. I don’t think it would have the same effect. But it don’t matter. There are ten words, and if somebody even spells out the first one, I can stop paying attention right then and there. But that don’t matter either, cause Nat won’t let some random stranger talk to me, and she’d be right there to watch what they’re spelling if I do wanna talk to somebody. It’ll be fine.”

But Steve’s worries aren’t done. He’s worried about the complexity of the journey and the restaurant eating. He thinks it’s a crazy idea.

Bucky doesn’t agree.

“I can do it, you know I can. None of it’s stuff we haven’t done before half a dozen times and Nat knows that. I think that’s why she suggested doing this. It’s got some new special ‘Natasha’ things, but most of it’s stuff I’m comfortable doing. And you know Nat can talk to me and she knows how to guide me.”

Steve is still worried and he tells Bucky so.

Bucky sighs softly, finds Steve’s face and pulls him against his shoulder and rubs his back. “I know you are, cause you’re a worrier. I know it’s scary, but you know Nat won’t let anything happen to me. How about I wear the SPOT when I go? We can turn the tracking on and you can see where we go. If something goes wrong, I’ll press the right button. But I’m gonna be with Natasha Romanov, Steve. What the hell do you think could possibly happen to me when I’m with Nat?”

Steve doesn’t say anything, he just clings to Bucky hard.

Bucky swallows a sigh and rubs his back. As much as he hates worrying Steve, he’s not going to back down from this. Nat’s idea isn’t crazy and it’s no different from other trips he and Steve have done a dozen times before. Steve will just have to force the worry-voice in his head to quiet down.


	57. Chapter 57

Bucky thinks it’s hilarious that Natasha is coming to pick him up for their ‘date’. When Steve tells him Natasha had just buzzed the intercom, Bucky gets up and opens the door for her. Within seconds, he feels her hand touching his and spelling her name on his palm. “Hey, Nat. What a lady you are—picking me up for our date!”

She reminds him she has manners, unlike two buffoons she knows. Bucky laughs and pulls her close for a hug. Then she goes to hug Steve while Bucky finishes pulling on his winter layers. He slides his sunglasses on and pulls on his Q hat from the subway museum—his Mets hat is for walking in the neighborhood and his subway hat is for taking the subway—and pulls a knit hat on top of it, tugging the soft wool over his ears.

When he’s bending over to tighten his shoelaces on his boots, he feels a mysterious fabric covered bundle stuffed in the corner by the door. He explores it a bit before coming to the conclusion that it’s a cloth bag with a strap and zippers, and it’s definitely not something that belongs to him or Steve. He’s never felt it there before, so it must be Natasha’s.

He smiles. She’s going to be staying with them for a few days again and it seems she’s brought spare clothes and other things with her this time around. Not that Bucky minds sharing their underwear stash with her, but he’s excited to see if he’ll be able to convince her to leave some of her things here permanently. Hopefully that’ll help make their apartment feel more like a home to her.

He appreciates that she’d shoved it as far out of the way as she could so he wouldn’t trip over it. She’s being an excellent date and they haven’t even left the apartment yet.

She seems to be taking a while talking to Steve. Probably the punk is still worrying and making her reassure him that she knows how to handle very step of the journey. Bucky’s been doing the same thing all morning.

He checks that everything is buttoned up and pulled tight, then checks the SPOT that’s clipped to his belt. Steve said he’d be texting Natasha within a few minutes of them being out of the apartment to let her know whether or not the tracking is working properly.

Bucky had smiled and told him he thinks that’s a great idea.

He thinks it’s ridiculous, but arguing with Steve when he gets like this will only turn his anxiety into anger, and that will turn this day into a mess. At least Steve is letting Bucky go without tagging along. That’s a big victory itself, and Bucky isn’t going to push him.

“Hurry up, Nat! I’m sweating and I’m hungry.” He holds out his arm, letting the cane dangle from its strap. “Rogers? Come give me a kiss and hug and then we’re gonna go.”

He feels Steve grab his hand and then his arms are winding around Bucky, pulling him close, his arms squeezing him way too tightly. They kiss and Steve’s kisses are hard and full of anxiety.

“It’ll be okay, Stevie, I promise. We’ll be back in a few hours and everything will be fine.”

Steve’s arms stay tight and Bucky is really starting to sweat now. “Okay, we gotta go before I pass out from heat.” Realizing that Steve won’t let go without some urging, Bucky takes a step back, and uses the excuse of grabbing his cane to push Steve back a bit.

The protective, worried arms around him slowly slide away, inch by inch, until Bucky is finally standing on his own. Then he feels Natasha’s hand touch his own and she transfers her grip to his upper arm.

“See? Nat’s got me. Everything’s fine.”

He’s really getting uncomfortable from the heat now, so he steps towards the door, smiling in Steve’s direction. “We’ll see you in a few hours and the SPOT will be tracking every step, and we’ll send you pictures, okay?”

Finding the open door with his cane, he heads through and into the cooler hallway. He knows if he stops now, Steve will find more excuses to prolong their leaving, so he keeps going. Natasha’s hand pressure stays even on his arm, letting him lead the way out of the apartment building.

He gets to the front door and Natasha releases his arm while he fumbles for the door knob and steps out into the much cooler air.

Finding the railing, he puts away his cane and slowly makes his way down, knowing Natasha is probably jumping down the steps to stand at the bottom, just in case he stumbles, but he no longer needs anybody to holds onto him while he’s climbing down.

Once he’s got his feet on the solid ground, he takes out his cane and feels Natasha’s hand wrap around his arm. He glances back in the direction of the apartment. “Steve’s standing there, ain’t he?”

Tap, tap.

“We’ll be fine, Stevie! Go sit with Maggie and let her distract you.”

He knows the punk won’t go back inside until they’re gone, so he turns in the direction of the subway station. “Alright, Romanov. Let’s go on our date. But I gotta warn you: I’m a nice boy and there won’t be any naughtiness happening, no matter how much of a lady you are.”

Her hand shakes a bit—she’s laughing—and he feels something smack the front of his jacket.

On their way to the train, Natasha has him stop and tells him that Steve is texting them. Steve is letting them know that—unsurprisingly—the SPOT’s tracking is working perfectly.

“Wow, what a surprise,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes with a smile. He glances skyward. “Mrs. R, your son’s being his usual worry wart self. I don’t know what we’re gonna do with that boy, I swear.”

They make it to the subway station, Natasha hands him his MetroCard and they get on the R train with no problem. After two stops, they get out at DeKalb Ave to do the usual transfer to the Q. He’s happy that the transfer route is becoming familiar. He knows how many corners they take and how many stairs they have to climb before they’re back at a pole, waiting for the Q train.

When they’re on the train, they take off their layers and settle in for the 30 minute ride. Natasha tells him about the interesting people on the train, they discuss Maggie, Steve’s recent painting project and Natasha’s recent missions.

Bucky notices that her finger movements completely change when she’s talking about her work. The easy flow of their conversation grinds to a halt, her light and fluid spelling becomes slow and lackluster, one signal bleeding into another as her fingertips drag over his palm. Her previous sentences had been full of their familiar shorthand, but they’d been full sentences. Now her answers consist of individual bursts of phrases, like she’s struggling to come up with things to say and she’s just stringing her thoughts together as she spells.

He remembers he’d noticed the same lack of enthusiasm after New Year’s. He curls up his fingers in the middle of a sentence.

“Nat, stop a second. Listen, I wanna say something. Don’t get annoyed with me, because I’m really hungry and I really do wanna eat lunch, so if you don’t wanna talk about it, just tell me you don’t wanna talk about it, okay?”

Her fingers hesitate for a second, then she draws a question mark on his palm.

“I noticed you don’t seem happy talking about your work lately. I started noticing it after New Year. Steve can tell too. It’s nobody’s business but yours, but if you ain’t happy being at SHIELD no more, than why are you staying? You could do anything else you want. Anything. Hell, you wouldn’t even have to work right away. You have plenty of money saved up, don’t you? You’re like Steve was when he was living at SHIELD. You never spend your pay on anything.”

When she replies, her finger movements are stiff and harder than usual. Her fingers are tense, probably because she’s defensive. She tells him she likes working for SHIELD. She owes SHIELD a lot and she has a lot of responsibilities.

“I ain’t saying you don’t got responsibilities, and I admire your loyalty to SHIELD. Don’t get mad, okay? Like I said: it’s your business. But if you ain’t happy, then I’m not gonna just sit here and ignore it. If you wanna change things in your life, Steve and I are here for you and we’ll support you and help you with whatever you need.”

She tells him she wants to change topics. Her fingers are still moving stiffly and defensively. Clearly, Bucky’s words have touched a nerve.

“Okay. Pick a topic, any topic. I promise I won’t bring up SHIELD for the rest of the day.”

True to form, Natasha jumps into another topic right away, effectively steering the conversation off herself within seconds. She tells him she’s worried about Steve’s overprotectiveness.

Bucky snorts. If this is what she wants to chat about, he’ll go along with it, but it seems like a silly thing to talk about. Saying she’s concerned about Steve’s overprotectiveness is like saying somebody’s annoyed at the sky being blue. It’s a fact that can’t be changed, so being concerned or annoyed about it is a waste of time.

“You know how the punk is. He’s always been a worrier. I’m just glad he let me go with you without insisting on coming with us. That’s a big step for him.”

Natasha tells him that being a worrier is one thing—but she isn’t happy that Bucky keeps making reference to Steve ‘letting’ him go places. Bucky’s allowed to go wherever he wants, with whoever he wants.

Bucky laughs. “Oh, I know that, and so does Rogers.”

Her fingers hesitate for a second, before she’s asking if Bucky’s sure Steve knows that.

“Oh, sure. Don’t worry about it. All of his worries come from his heart, and that’s fine. I don’t mind.”

She wants to keep discussing it, but Bucky manages to steer the conversation to discuss their lunch plans. There’s something important he wants to talk to her about before they get to the restaurant.

“Nat, listen. I don’t know if eating any Russian food will bring back any memories of Hydra, but I don’t wanna focus on that. Please don’t ask me if I remember something or if I’ve ever had any of the food before. I just—I don’t wanna bring any of that stuff into it. I don’t remember what I ate when I was with Hydra, and you know they probably fed me intravenously most of the time, but I don’t wanna focus on Russian food being associated with Hydra. I wanna associate it with you and family and having a great day.”

Natasha squeezes his hand and taps it multiple times.

They’re planning to get out at Ocean Parkway station, one stop past Brighton Beach, since Natasha tells him that stop will bring them very close to the restaurant she wants to go to. She admits she hadn’t told Steve that they won’t be getting out at a familiar station, which makes Bucky laugh.

“But make sure you text Rogers and tell him that, cause if he sees we didn’t get out at Brighton, he’ll have a heart attack.”

Natasha texts Steve, but then she tells him she put her phone away, because she doesn’t want to deal with his hysterics.

Bucky laughs. “You know him well.”

They get out at Ocean Parkway, they takes the escalator down and they walk a few blocks to ‘[Varenichnaya](http://www.nydailynews.com/life-style/eats/eating-q-line-varenichnaya-brighton-beach-russian-comfort-food-article-1.1056119)’, Natasha’s restaurant of choice.

She holds the door open for him and Bucky smiles cheekily as he steps inside. “Thank you, Nat. You’re remembering your manners, that’s always nice. By the way, I assume you’re paying, right? You can’t take me out on a date and expect me to pay for myself. That’s just rude.”

Natasha smacks him on the arm and leads him to a table. He puts away his cane and Natasha helps him explore the fabric covered bench and table, letting him choose the one he wants. Taking off his layers, he carefully piles everything on the bench next to him and has a seat. He checks the tower of clothes a few more times, making sure nothing will fall over.

Carefully, he explores the table, figuring out what’s where. He finds a paper placemat, a metal stand holding folded napkins, a paper folded in a standing triangle, which Steve has told him usually lists specific drinks or desserts.

Satisfied that there’s nothing strange on the table, he basks in the nice warmth, letting his cheeks and nose warm up and breathing in the scent of spiced meat and…cabbage?

That’s definitely cabbage.

He puts his hand on the table and waits for Natasha to get settled. The first thing she tells him is that they should take a picture and send it to Steve so he can calm down a bit.

Bucky smiles. “Alright. You come over here and tell me when you’re done. I’ll do my staring and smiling.”

He feels Natasha wrap her arm around his shoulders and he carefully stares straight ahead, smiling and not moving a muscle, until Natasha taps him on the shoulder.

Within minutes, she tells him Steve sent back a text message with a bunch of smiley faces and thumbs up. Bucky rolls his eyes. “I know exactly what he’s been doing since we left. He’s been sitting on the couch, staring at his phone, watching the SPOT dot move over a map of Brooklyn and telling Maggie how crazy this whole thing is. Anyway, I’m starving and that smell is making me even hungrier. Don’t bother telling me what’s on the menu, just order a bunch of things and I’ll eat whatever you get.”

Natasha asks if he’s sure he trusts her enough to order for him.

“I’m hoping the pressure of being a good date will make you put in a good effort, Romanov. But whatever you get, I want some cabbage. Oh, and some meat. I don’t got no other preferences. Oh, and I want a Sprite.”

She brings his fingers to her lips so he can feel that she’s laughing. Then she tells him he’s got quite a few preferences, considering he insisted he _didn’t_ have any.

Bucky shrugs. “I guess I’m more of a fussy date than I realized. Nobody’s ever taken me out on a date before, so I guess I’m learning things about myself.”

That makes them both laugh.

Natasha asks him if how hungry he is, because she wants to order multiple things.

“Oh, please. You’re talking to a man who grew up during a depression. You order whatever you want, and I promise you, there won’t be any food left at the end. In fact, you can serve me, since that will keep the table from turning into a mess, plus, it’ll let you control my eating pace so you won’t starve.”

The food is phenomenal. They’re brought fresh, warm bread and Natasha orders them Kharcho beef soup and pickled vegetable salad to start, then she gets Pelmeni dumplings stuffed with spiced veal and covered in fried onions, liver veal, pork shoulder and Vareniki ravioli filled with fried cabbage.

It’s tricky dealing with the multiple dishes. Bucky’s used to getting his food in one dish and just focusing on that. Natasha is amazing and fills his plate with a little bit of everything and gets him a separate small bowl for the soup. Whenever Bucky’s close to finishing with something, she’ll touch his hand, and once he’s put his fork or spoon down, she’ll ask if he wants something else.

They end up getting another dish of Pelmeni dumplings because they’re so good, and for desert they get Vareniki ravioli stuffed with cherries and sweet cottage cheese. One of the downsides to needing his hand to eat always means that he can’t chat with the people he’s eating with, but he’s too busy devouring the food to focus on chatting anyway.

The food was delicious, but he realizes pretty quickly that he ate a little more than he probably should have.

“Oh, Jesus, I think you’re gonna have to roll me back to the train, Nat.”

She taps his hand and then tells him he’ll have to roll her.

“You’re the one taking me out on a date so you have to do the work,” he says, laughing. Then he has to stop laughing because his belly hurts it’s so full.

But the food was so, so good.

“Nat, I’m so glad we came here. We’ll bring Rogers next time, okay? But every once in a while, I expect my best girl to take me out on a date, okay?”

Tap, tap.

Natasha asks him if he wants to get some frozen Pelmeni dumplings and Vareniki ravioli to go. The restaurant sells frozen packages of them.

“Oh, that’s a great idea! But let’s go down to the beach first and grab the food on our way back.”

After Natasha pays, they slowly wander down to the beach. Bucky collects some sea shells and sand to replenish his and Steve’s art supplies, and they wander across the sand, enjoying the cold, ocean air whipping past them. He can smell the salt and the seaweed and he can practically hear the seagulls screeching overhead.

“What a great day, Nat! Hey, we should take another picture and send it to Steve.”

They take another selfie together with the ocean behind them. After wandering along the beach long enough for the cold to start seeping through their layers, they head back to the restaurant and get some packages of frozen dumplings and ravioli and then walk back to the train.

Once they’re back at Court Street station and have walked out of the exit gates, Bucky comes to a stop before they start up the stairs. “Nat, I’ll bet you a quarter that Rogers is waiting at the top of the stairs.”

She rubs his arm.

“What? You ain’t gonna take that bet? Oh, come on.”

Rub, rub, rub. A smack.

He chuckles. “Okay, fine. Deprive me of my twenty-five cents.”

Sure enough, the minute he’s up the steps and taking out his cane, he feels a hand touching his. He takes off his glove and feels the familiar bracelet on the wrist. “Hey, Stevie! Look! I’m fine and Nat’s fine and we even brought you food!”

He feels Steve’s arms wrap around him and then he’s being squeezed tightly. He presses a kiss to Steve’s cheek and rubs his back, hoping his cane isn’t swinging all over the place.

“Everything’s fine, just like I said it would be.”

Steve releases him, presses a kiss to his hand and then tugs his glove back over his hand. He disappears for a second—probably hugging Natasha—and then he feels Steve gripping his upper arm, and they head home.

“Nat, don’t tell him too much about what we did today, I wanna tell him when we’re at home so we can all talk about it together.”

Once they’re home, the food is in the ice box and they’re all on the couch with Bucky in the middle and Maggie on his lap, he and Natasha tell Steve about their day.

Steve and Natasha take turns interpreting for Bucky and they tell Steve about how well the train journey went, how delicious the food was and how great walking on the beach was.

Bucky presses himself against Steve’s side and monitors the tension in his body, arm and his fingers when he’s spelling. He was very tense when they had first sat down, but by the end, he’s relaxed into the couch and has slung his arm around Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky jabs Natasha in the side with his elbow. “Hey! You were a very polite lady during the entire date. If you want, you may give me a kiss on the cheek. But only one, and it better be a polite kiss.”

A second later, he’s got two sets of lips, kissing each of his cheeks, both of the lips curling up into a smile as they both sneak in a second kiss.

“Hey! None of that was part of the agreement! Rogers—you’re just sneaking kisses without permission, and you, Romanov! Blatantly disregarding my wishes. I don’t know what I’m gonna do with the two of you.”

He feels both of them press their faces against his neck, shaking with laughter.

“Oh, you two better be glad that I love you both. Jesus Christ. Mags, what kind of people are we living with, huh?”

*             *             *

Natasha stays with them for a week until her next mission. She bought herself a swimsuit so she joins them when they go to the pool, she eats her favourite cereal, she spends time getting to know Maggie and she brought a spare hairbrush that finds a permanent home in the bathroom.

Bucky tries to bring up the issue of her work at SHIELD again, but she shuts him down just as quickly as she had on the train. He talks to Steve about it non-verbally when they’re in bed that night, and Steve says he’d noticed how defensive Natasha had gotten as soon as Bucky had brought up the issue.

He tells him to give her space. She’s the type of hates talking about things, but when somebody brings something up, she’ll let it roll around in her head for a while. Steve knows that the idea’s in her head now, and she’ll examine it until she’s ready to make a decision.


	58. Chapter 58

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those dark clouds which have been gathering on the horizon are slowly moving in…you may want to have some tissues handy.

Steve thinks they’re all doing really well right now.

Bucky and Natasha had a successful day out together, Bucky isn’t bored while Steve works anymore, Maggie is settling in nicely, he and Nat are making progress on Bucky’s birthday present, and while Steve doesn’t love his new job, he likes knowing that he’s going to get a paycheck twice a month. The work is dry and routine, even boring on most days, but it’s not difficult and not having a boss watching his every move means Steve can take breaks whenever he wants and do other things.

He hears his phone ping with an incoming email message while he’s scrolling through the blueprints of a new mall in preparation for making a security plan for them. When he takes his next break, he checks the message.

It was sent to his personal email, which usually means it’s Sam, Natasha or Leon sending him something interesting to look at. Sometimes there are notifications from posts he’s following on the deafblind forum or coupons from the restaurant they eat at.

It’s none of those things.

It’s a notification from the website where he’d created his short-lived blog. Maybe they’re telling him they’re going to delete the blog because he hasn’t touched it for a few weeks? He opens the email and skims it.

At first he doesn’t understand what he’s reading. It seems to be a notification about a comment which somebody had left on his blog post. His August 23rd blog post. It was written by somebody called USAHockeyDoOrDie1980.

_Hello. I’m in a similar situation as you. My wife lost her sight completely over the course of two days. Just like your partner, my wife was released from the hospital because they couldn’t do anything to help her. Since we came home, I’ve been feeling overwhelmed. I was happy to find your blog. Your post was short, but it made me feel less alone. Thank you. I’m looking forward to more of your posts!_

Steve blinks at it.

He closes the email and then opens it again and re-reads it. His eyes must be playing tricks on him. He wants to ask Bucky read it and confirm that he’s reading what he thinks he’s reading, but not only is Bucky busy doing dishes, but he can’t read what’s on Steve’s phone anyway.

This person, this man (Steve thinks) has found his stupid blog in the mass of things that reside on the internet and he read Steve’s silly little post and actually connected with it??

What the hell is he supposed to do now? Should he just ignore it? No, that would be rude.

He feels bad that the man thinks his stupid blog will somehow help him. The least he can do is reply to him.

First he has to find his login information for the website because he’s forgotten it. He can’t figure out how to log into the site from his phone, so he logs into his account on his work computer.

And there’s his little post, staring him right in the face, mocking him.

He glares at it. “You’re not only stupid, but you’re giving people false hope. I should have deleted you.” He decides he’ll reply to the comment and then wait a few days before deleting the entire blog. There’s no sense in leaving this thing sitting around where anybody could stumble on it again and mistakenly assume that it will somehow help them.

Writing out a reply to the man, he gives him his condolences for his wife’s condition, telling him that he doesn’t really have time to keep the blog going and directing him to the deafblind forum he frequents.

He sends the message and then spends a few minutes glaring at the stupid August 23rd entry before deciding it’s time to get back to work…

…but before he can even close the internet window, another comment pops up, in reply to the one he’d just made. It’s the same man, USAHockeyDoOrDie1980.

_Thank you for your reply. I’ll be honest: I’m sad that you won’t be continuing the blog. I was looking forward to reading how you handled the first few days at home. I guess I just want to know if what I’m feeling is normal and if I’m doing enough to help my wife. But I understand that you have other priorities. Thanks for the link to the forum!_

Steve’s hands are frozen on his keyboard. Now what the hell is he supposed to do?!

He needs to get rid of this blog thing once and for all—but he can’t leave this poor guy out in the dark. His mind races in a million directions before he decides to be sensible and presses his motion sensor button. This is not a problem that he can deal with on his own.

“Just a second, Steve. Let me finish washing this pot and I’ll be right over.”

Shit. He’d forgotten that Bucky’s in the middle of washing dishes. Well, he needs to hurry up because Steve is having a crisis. He waits impatiently while Bucky finishes the pot, dries his hand and comes over to the desk. Bucky feels for Steve’s pencil mug first and verifies that the spoon is there.

Then he finds Steve sitting on his chair and wraps his arm around him. He rests his chin on Steve’s shoulder and lays his hand on the desk. “What’s going on? You want a snack?”

“No, Buck.” Steve rubs Bucky’s hand and then tells him he has a confession to make.

“Alright. Should I sit down for this?”

Steve rubs his hand. He tells Bucky it’s not that bad. He admits that he lied to Bucky about Leon’s feedback about his blog post.

“The blog post? The thing you wrote a few weeks ago?”

Steve taps his hand. Steve knows Bucky’s got a confused frown on his face without having to see his face.

“Why are you confessing now? I thought you decided it wasn’t worth your time?”

Steve spins his chair around and pulls Bucky onto his lap. It means he can give Bucky lots of apology kisses. He also confesses that the reason he stopped going to therapy was because he was embarrassed that Leon didn’t like his blog post.

Bucky sighs softly and presses his forehead against Steve’s. “You silly goof. I’m sure Leon didn’t hate it, he probably just thought you needed to work on it a bit more. But you thought he hated it, didn’t you?”

Steve nods. He knows Bucky can feel it.

“You’re a silly, silly goof, Stevie. Alright, so you got into a panic and then you got into a snit—which is what you’ve done your entire life so it’s not surprising, but Leon will definitely have to get to know you better. Anyway, why are you bringing this all up now? Do you wanna go back to therapy?”

Steve doesn’t respond. Instead, he tells Bucky about the blog comment.

It takes Bucky a second to absorb it all. “So, this random man read your article and wants you to write more articles?”

Steve taps his hand.

“I feel for the man, but you gotta do what’s best for you. If you wanna write more articles, you can, but if you don’t, then don’t.”

Steve tells him he can’t leave the poor man hanging like this.

“You already told him how to get to the forum with the deafblind group, right? There’s a lot of help there. And you don’t gotta be this man’s therapist.”

Steve doesn’t reply. He’s still feeling torn about this situation. Damn you, USAHockeyDoOrDie1980.

He tells Bucky he wants to at least answer the man’s question.

“What question?”

“He wanted to know what the first few days at home were like.”

Bucky sighs softly. He gently bumps his head against Steve’s. “If you wanna do it, then do it. But if it upsets you, then just apologize to the man and get rid of this blog thing. I know how hard those first few days were for you, sweetheart. They were so tough for me that I barely remember them. I know you do, and it makes my heart hurt that you had to go through that alone.”

Steve rubs Bucky’s hand. “I wasn’t alone, Buck. You were there for me when I needed you to be.”

“I should have done more.”

“Don’t be stupid. You’d just lost a huge part of yourself. You were terrified and completely lost and it’s a miracle that you even had enough strength to realize I was upset from time to time. Most people would have been so focused on their own survival that they wouldn’t have realized even obvious things.”

Bucky shakes his head. “I don’t care about what other people would do. This all landed on your lap because I made an impulsive, stupid decision.”

Steve frowns. “Hey, no, no, no. Don’t start feeling guilty over that again. You weren’t thinking right and you thought you had no other option. Those first few weeks were really hard, but there was nowhere else I wanted to be. There ain’t no other place I’ve ever wanted to be than right by your side since I was seven years old. That didn’t change that day in the hospital and it ain’t ever gonna change. You got that?”

Bucky smiles sadly. “I still wish I could make this easier for you.”

“Let me try this blog thing again and see how that works. Maybe that’ll help a bit.”

Bucky nods and kisses Steve’s cheek. “Okay, but remember: If you don’t like how it’s making you feel, then you can stop at any time.”

That’s true. If at any point he doesn’t like how things are going, he can just delete the blog. Technically he doesn’t have to say anything to USAHockeyDoOrDie1980 before he does it. It’s his blog.

He’ll feel bad about it for a few days, but he’d get over it eventually. He decides to give the blog one last try and he informs Bucky about his decision.

Bucky smiles and kisses his cheek. “That’s great! I’m proud of you, Stevie. But it’s the middle of the work day and you need to finish your work first.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yes, sir,” he says, tapping Bucky’s hand harder than necessary when he says it, hoping it conveys his sarcasm.

Bucky’s smirk tells him he succeeded. “Wisecracker. Get back to work. I got more dishes to do.”

*             *             *

Once he’s finished his work for the day, Steve logs back into his blog and re-reads his little August 23 entry. Reading it with fresh eyes, he realizes that he skipped over a lot of details. Not physical details, but emotional details. He’d mentioned that Bucky had been scared, but he hadn’t talked about how he’d felt at all.

Maybe that had been Leon’s problem with it?

Steve decides if he’s going to give USAHockeyDoOrDie1980 a real glimpse into what he’d felt during those first few days, he needs to start with August 23. Instead of starting a new entry, he click the ‘Edit’ button on the first entry.

_August 23 was the day my entire life changed._

_When I woke up that morning, I had no idea that on August 22, the life of my partner had changed forever._

_There had been a terrible accident and he (I’m going to call him B) lost his hearing, his sight and his left arm. The hospital called me and I rushed over to be with him. I’d understood the words that I’d heard on the phone (permanent and complete dual sensory loss) but I didn’t really know what that meant._

_When I arrived at the hospital, B was eating a sandwich. Well, he wasn’t really eating it himself. There was a nurse (whose name was Dolores) who was helping him eat. B was sitting in the bed, staring at the far wall and the nurse was feeding him. When I got into the room, I stood right where he was staring and I realized he couldn’t see me. When I said hello to him, he didn’t respond. I realized he couldn’t hear me._

_I felt so overwhelmed. And scared. Very scared. I wanted it all to be a bad dream because it seemed too horrible to be real. I felt like somebody had turned the world inside out. I think I was in shock._

_The nurse told me to get out of the room because she could tell I was upset. She told me to sit outside so B wouldn’t know I was upset. I was scared and overwhelmed, but I thought it would be okay if the hospital helped us. They would tell us what to do and how to do it and what we should do next. But the nurse said the hospital doesn’t have that information._

_I realized B and I were on our own. I felt silly because I wasn’t the one who lost my sight and hearing so I thought I would feel less overwhelmed. But then I realized that B was completely dependent on me and would be for the rest of his life._

_I’ve never felt so scared and helpless in my entire life. I didn’t know what to do, or where to turn, or where to get help. I was responsible for B and I had no idea what the next step was._

Steve stops typing when he realizes his jaw is clenched so hard that it’s starting to ache. He’d felt the tears brimming in his eyes a few sentences ago, but he wanted to finish the entry. He takes a shaky breath and squeezes his eyes shut, but a few of the tears sneak past and roll down his cheeks.

He takes his hands off the keyboard and wipes at his eyes, drawing in shaky breaths and trying to keep himself under control. There’s no way he can finish the entry like this.

He pushes the motion sensor button.

“Hang on, Steve. I gotta put down my thumbtack pen or with my luck I’ll come back and sit right on it. That’ll give my butt a nice surprise, huh?” Within minutes, Bucky’s found him. “What’s going on? How’s the blog entry going?”

Steve is using all his energy to try to contain his sobbing, so he doesn’t have the focus to spell right now. Bucky’s hand patiently waits on the desk, but when no words are forthcoming, he frowns and runs his hand up Steve’s frozen arms to his face.

The second he feels the tears on Steve’s face, he looks a lot more worried. “Steve, are you hurt? Physically hurt?”

Steve shakes his head. He’s too frazzled to remember to respond on Bucky’s hand, but Bucky can feel his head movement and he relaxes a bit. “Okay, that’s good. But something’s upsetting you, right?”

Steve nods his head.

Bucky pulls Steve’s spinning chair around and kneels between his legs so he can pull Steve’s head onto his shoulder. He holds him close, but not tight enough that Steve can’t move his head freely.

“If you wanna cry, you cry. As much as you want. Don’t keep it in, it’ll make the hurt keep hurting.”

As if he’d been waiting for Bucky’s permission, he lets the floodgates open and sobs into Bucky’s shirt, pressing his face into his shoulder.

Bucky makes comforting sounds and rubs his back. He kisses Steve’s head from time to time. “It’s alright, sweetheart. It’s alright.”

Steve cries for a while, and when he’s back down to sniffling, he brings his arms up to pull Bucky closer.

Bucky interprets the motion correctly—that Steve’s ready to answer more questions. “Does this have to do with the blog post?”

Steve taps Bucky’s back.

“Did Leon say something mean about it?”

Rub.

“Did that man who left that feedback say something mean?”

Rub.                                                                     

Steve knows he’s being a little annoying—forcing Bucky to ask yes or no questions and guess his way to a right answer just because Steve is too frazzled to spell properly—but Bucky isn’t making any attempt to grab Steve’s hand, so he seems to be okay with it.

“Did anyone say something mean?”

Rub.

“Then…I’m sorry, Stevie, but I don’t know what else to guess. You don’t gotta tell me right now if you don’t want to. We can stay here like this as long as you want.”

While Steve sniffles into Bucky’s shirt and gradually calms down, he mulls over why he got so upset over it. He realizes he’d put himself into that exact same mindset that he’d been in when he’d arrived at the hospital. He’d felt that same fear and confusion; that sense of being completely overwhelmed and feeling like the whole world got yanked out from under his feet; and that same sorrow and grief when he’d realized what Bucky had lost.

Out of all the heavy emotions which he’d felt in those days, the worst was knowing that Bucky would never be able to see him again or hear him again.

Steve pulls back and takes Bucky’s hand. He manages to spells out ‘I’ and ‘M-I-S-S’ and then he gently touches Bucky’s eyes and ears.

The worry on Bucky’s face is immediately replaced by sorrow. “Oh, Stevie. I know. I—I miss them too. I—I would do anything to see your face or hear your voice again, even just for a second each day.” He pulls Steve close and kisses him on the cheek. He rubs the back of Steve’s neck and presses his face against Steve’s shoulder. They stay like that for long moments, comforting each other in their grief.

Steve gradually calms down and eventually pulls back from Bucky.

Bucky’s got some tears in his eyes, so Steve gently wipes them away. He tells Bucky he’s sorry for upsetting him.

Bucky smiles sadly. “You didn’t. I think it’s normal and right to miss my hearing and my sight from time to time. We’re always gonna miss them and that’s okay, but our world didn’t really end, did it? We’re figuring things out and making things better every day.”

That’s true.

What Steve also realizes is that now that he’s had a good cry over it, he feels a little better. Maybe writing it down has helped him a little. Hopefully it’ll do the same for the hockey man.

Steve tells Bucky all of that. He also tells him he wants to finish writing the entry, but he wants to cuddle at the same time.

Bucky looks worried again. “Are you sure you wanna finish it? You don’t gotta do it if it upsets you.”

Steve shakes his head. He tells Bucky that he thinks it’s a good type of upset, not a bad kind.

Bucky’s frowning so he probably doesn’t understand what that means, but he decides to go with it. “Alright, let’s go sit on the couch. But let me put my art supplies away. I don’t want us sitting on my beautiful dog picture.”

Steve saves his entry on his work computer and turns on his laptop while Bucky carefully puts his case containing his thumbtack pens and his pinhole dog picture on the coffee table.

“Right, I’m ready. Come sit.”

Steve sits between Bucky’s legs, with the computer on his lap, and Bucky’s arm around him and his head pressed against Steve’s. It’s warm, comfortable and being surrounded by Bucky like this gives him enough energy to keep writing.

Slowly, the blog entry gets finished. Every time Steve starts to tense up, Bucky’s hand gently rubs his belly and he kisses Steve’s cheek for encouragement.

Steve saves the entry and then replies to USAHockeyDoOrDie1980’s last comment, telling him he hopes the edited entry is a little better, and that Steve will consider making more posts in the future.

*             *             *

A few days later, Steve gets another email notification. It’s from USAHockeyDoOrDie1980.

_When I read your reply to my last comment, I freaked out a little. I was scared to read your edited post because I was scared of how it would make me feel. I finally read it and I want to thank you for being brave enough to put those emotions into words. I’m not ashamed to admit I cried while I read it. Everything that you felt was exactly how I felt. Thank you for making me feel less alone._

*             *             *

Steve’s hands are shaking a bit from nerves as he dials Leon’s number, but before he can change his mind about the phone call, Leon picks up. “This is Dr. Leon Powell.”

“Hi, Leon. It’s—it’s Steve Rogers.”

“Oh, hello, Steve!” Leon says. He sounds happy, which is a good sign. “I’m happy you called. How can I help you?”

Steve sighs. “First of all, I wanna apologize for getting into a snit like that. I didn’t really understand what you meant when you said I hadn’t written the blog entry properly, but now I get it.”

“You just misinterpreted what I’d said, and that’s okay. It happens to all of us. But just a little word of advice: maybe next time allow the person to explain before you completely shut them out?”

Steve feels a bit embarrassed. “Uh….yeah. I’ll try. Again, I’m sorry.”

“Water under the bridge, my friend. What else can I do for you?”

Oh, right. The good part of the phone call. “I wanted to say that you were right about my blog post. I re-read it and I get what you meant. I wasn’t including my emotions at all, and that’s the most important part of the assignment, ain’t it? That’s how I heal, right?”

“That’s right. It’s not a guarantee, but if you get your emotions out by writing about them or talking about them, it should help you feel a bit better.”

Steve snorts. “Oh, it did that, don’t worry.”

“Hmm?”

Steve tells him about the blog comment he’d received and how it had prompted him to re-write the entry and how it had led to him crying all over Bucky for twenty minutes.

“And how did you feel afterwards?”

“Better. I don’t know why, but I felt better. Lighter. I thought back to that day in the hospital and it didn’t feel as horrible as it did that day.”

“That’s what healing means, Steve. The more you revisit those moments which cause you pain, the less of a hold they’ll have over you. Of course, you need to be revisiting those moments safely, which the blog allows you to do.”

“Should I keep doing it?”

“As long as it feels helpful, go ahead and continue.”

Steve nods. “Okay, I’ll try. So, can I resume therapy or are you still mad at me?”

Leon laughs. “I’m never going to be mad at you. Annoyed, maybe. But never mad. We can resume any time you want.”

He’s so glad he met this wonderful man. “Okay.”

“Let me know when you’re ready and I’ll make time.”


	59. Chapter 59

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to get those tissues out, if you haven’t already! And don’t put them away for a few chapters…

Leon has mercy on him and keeps their first session light. Steve catches him up on adjusting to his work schedule and how they’d addressed Bucky’s boredom by adopting Maggie. Leon is pleased with all of that progress, and Steve enjoys that session a lot.

During the next session, Leon asks him if he’s had time to think about visiting his ma.

Steve immediately doesn’t like this session anymore. “I’ve posted two more blog entries. I’m up to September now.”

Leon smiles. “I know. I got your email. I read them and I left wonderful comments. I know you know that because you replied to my wonderful comments.”

Steve desperately searches for something else to bring up—anything that will keep the conversation away from focusing on his ma. “And I came up with a much better title and subtitle! Did you see those?”

“I did. They’re much better than the original versions were.”

“Yeah, I used ‘To The End of the Line’ for the title so it connects the blog to me and Buck, but I still ain’t using our names, see? And the subtitle’s real clear on what the blog’s about: ‘Coping with Deafblindness – A Caregiver’s Perspective’. It’s close to what I had before, but it’s a lot more poetic, ain’t it?”

Leon gives him a knowing smile. “Yes, they’re fantastic and I’m happy that you put more thought into the titles. Now, I’m going to steer the conversation back from this detour you’re trying taking us on. Ready? Here we go, I’m steering. Have you thought about visiting your mom?”

Steve’s smile disappears and he finds himself glaring at him. “No, I haven’t. I’ve been busy.”

“And that’s understandable. But were you actually busy or were you using that as an excuse?”

Steve glares at him. He wants to fidget, but he hates that Leon will be able to see him do it. He actually liked doing the video sessions better because he could fidget without Leon knowing about it. They’ve started alternating between video sessions and in-person sessions at Leon’s office, mostly because Leon says it’s good for Steve and Bucky to spend some time apart.

“I—I really haven’t thought about it. Maybe that’s because I didn’t want to, but whatever the reason, I haven’t thought about it.”

“You’re not going to move forward if you let yourself get stuck here.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Is this why I’m paying you all this money? So you can tell me stupid things?”

“I won’t force you to keep talking about this is you don’t want you. We can go back to talking about Maggie. But you’re here because you’d like me to help you. You don’t need help when it comes to Maggie, but you need help when it comes to yourself.”

Steve crosses his arms. He can feel his temper starting to rise—that urge to lash out and push Leon away before he finds out things Steve doesn’t want him to know is rising deep in his gut. His ma always told him he got his temper from her and she always went on and on about how she wished Steve had gotten his pa’s calm nature instead. But God had always had a twisted sense of humor when it comes to Steve.

Leon is blinking at him, looking completely impassive. “Steve, I can see you’re getting upset and I do appreciate that you’re doing your best to keep your temper in check. Do you want to finish for today? Or do we want to talk about something else?”

“I just—I don’t see the point of talking to you about it, because there ain’t nothing you can say to change it.”

“You don’t know that.”

Steve gives him an unimpressed look. “You don’t know what I’m talking about.”

Leon smiled. “True. But very often we make an emotional situation much worse for ourselves because we give it too much time to roll around and grow in our heads. It feeds off our anxiety, our fears, our insecurities. In my experience, most of these situations may seem like huge scary monsters, but in reality, they’re easy to defeat.”

“Not this one.”

“You wanna tell me about it and then I’ll tell you if it’s a hopeless cause or if I have some advice?”

Steve scoffs. “I already know it’s a hopeless cause. What happened was all my fault and there ain’t nothing anyone can say about it.”

“What was your fault?”

“Everything. Every single damn thing that’s happened to Buck since I got him out of that fucking Hydra prison camp has been my fault. Hydra, the Raft, being deafblind…All. My. Fault.”

“Why is that your fault?”

Steve is really starting to get angry now. Why does this twit have to have everything spelled out for him?! Steve’s given him all the clues he needs. The anger bursts into a blazing inferno and his temper snaps. “Because I should have let him go home!”

Leon doesn’t react to his anger. “He _is_ home, Steve.”

Steve glares at him. “You’re a fucking idiot! Obviously I don’t mean today! I mean back then!” He stabs a finger into space, indicating that certain point in time.

“When?”

Steve clenches his jaw. He wants to throw something at this twit. He clenches and unclenches his hands, trying to stop himself from punching through the coffee table that’s sitting between them.

“After Azzano,” he finally grits out between clenched teeth. “After I got him out of that prison camp, he should have gone home. He had his bags packed, the discharge papers were signed, he had a spot on the next boat home. Everything was ready. He wanted to go home, he had the right to go home. And then—” The words get stuck in his throat as his self-loathing creeps in. “—and then I had to open my big dumb mouth.”

Leon frowns. “What did you say?”

At that moment, Steve’s phone vibrates. He pulls it out of his pocket and sees that Bucky’s pushed the SPOT’s ‘OK’ button.

Great, Bucky isn’t dead. Well, it’s no thanks to Steve.

He shoves the phone back into his pocket while he feels the duplicate OK message coming in and glares at Leon. “I asked him to stay. I knew he wouldn’t say no. I knew he’d never leave me there alone. The only reason—the _only_ reason—he was getting ready to go home was because I’d let him think that I was going home with him. But then I changed my mind because I’m a selfish ass.”

Leon frowns. “You were going to go home with him?”

“When I saw what bad shape Buck was in, that was my plan. When I went to rescue the 107th, my big goal wasn’t to kill Hydra or Nazis, and it wasn’t even to rescue those other men. It was to rescue Buck. He was my first priority—my family, the love of my life, my best friend—and getting him out of danger was my number one priority. And it should have stayed my number one priority.”

“You think you would have been putting him first by going home?”

“I _know_ I would have been putting him first by going home with him! I should have taken him home and helped take care of him. He would have been safe and he wouldn’t have had to worry about me. I would have gone back to being a circus act raising money for the war effort.” Steve lets out an ugly laugh. “I think I actually did more good for the war effort by doing the USO tours than I did actually killing Nazis and Hydra agents. My shows raised triple the amount of money as other people’s did. I sure didn’t kill three times as many Nazis as everyone else. I could have kept contributing to the war effort in a real meaningful way—a way that other people couldn’t—and most importantly, Buck would have been safe and sound at home and recovering and I could have been there to take care of him, like I should have.”

Leon frowns a bit, looking confused. “Didn’t your tours take you all over the country?”

Steve glares. “Yeah. So?”

“And Bucky would have stayed in Brooklyn.”

Christ, this man is an idiot. “Obviously. He would have been in Brooklyn and I could have taken care of him day and night.”

Leon gives him a long look. Steve has no idea why he’s looking at him like that, so he just stares back.

Eventually Leon clears his throat. “I’m not sure I understand how you were going to tour the country while still sleeping in Brooklyn every night.”

Steve blinks. That—That—

Thankfully, Leon waves that aside. “Anyway, let’s forget about that for now. So instead of going home to take care of Bucky, you chose to stay behind instead. Is that where the selfishness comes in that you talked about earlier?”

“Obviously! I wanted to stay because I wanted to show off. Not because I thought I’d be able to do more for the war effort than the thousands of other men and women who were already out there, but because I wanted to _show off_! For the first time in my life, I wasn’t slowing anyone down. For the first time, I could actually carry heavy bags and finish a fight that I started. I was strong and big and this body could do amazing things. It wasn’t slow and fragile and held together by stubbornness, spit and a prayer. This body was incredible, and I wanted to show off. And I wanted to show off to Buck. That meant Buck had to stay with me.”

Leon makes an agreeable noise. “You wanted to show that your physical abilities finally matched your mental abilities. You knew you were finally in a position to actually be a soldier and you wanted your best friend to witness that. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Steve slams his fist onto the couch’s armrest. “There’s _everything_ wrong with that! Asking your friend to put off going home to dinner for a few minutes because you want to show them a swell trick you can do is one thing. Asking your traumatized friend who’d been living in hell for months and had just survived days of torture and starvation to stick around because you want to show off how fast you can run and how well you can punch people ain’t the same thing! That ain’t even in the same universe!”

“Bucky made his choice. He knew he had every right to go home—”

“ _I_ knew that too! I remember I thought it through—should I go home with Buck? Should I make him stay? _How_ can I get Buck to stay? I knew exactly what to say. Telling him I’m going off to chase Hydra agents around Europe and fights Nazis—I knew he’d stay. And I was so excited! He could barely stand up straight, he wasn’t eating right, he couldn’t sleep and he still had the fucking _cuff burns_ on his wrists and ankles—but I was excited that I could show off for him!”

Steve swipes a hand over his face. He realizes he’s crying, but he has no time to control his tears. He doesn’t have that right. He needs Leon to understand the depth of his stupidity and betrayal. “I used Bucky’s love for me, our friendship, our connection—I used it to manipulate him into staying. I betrayed him and used him in the worst possible way. And because he stayed, he ended up suffering for seventy more years, and he’s going to keep suffering for the rest of his life, all because I was a selfish idiot!” He chokes out, shaking from the sobs trying to claw their way out of his throat.

“What happened to Bucky after he fell from the train isn’t your fault, Steve.”

“ _Of course_ it is! If I hadn’t made him stay, he wouldn’t have ever been on that fucking train, he wouldn’t have been captured by Hydra and been tortured and abused and suffered in ways I can’t even imagine for seventy fucking years! He wouldn’t have had to break free from them, and he wouldn’t have been caught by the government and locked up in another cage! And then to get out of that cage, he had to lose his sight and his hearing for the rest of his life. Every single fucking thing that Buck’s had to endure for the last seventy years and the next seventy years is because of me. Because I wanted to show off how fast I could _run_!”

That’s when he loses the ability to talk and the tears overtake him. He shoves his hands against his eyes, sobs tearing through him. The tears drip down his hands and his nose is completely clogged. He can barely breathe he’s crying so hard.

He completely forgets where he is until he feels a hand touch his shoulder. He jerks back from the unexpected contact and his throat catches on a sob as he looks up and sees Leon kneeling next to him. “Take your time, Steve. Here—” he hands Steve a box of tissues. “Take these and take your time. When you’re ready, we can talk about it.”

“There’s nothing—” The words catch in his throat and he has to swallow twice in between sobs until he can get them out. “There’s nothing y-you can say that’ll make me fe-feel better.”

Damn it, he wants Bucky. Steve realizes how disgusting that is—he’s sobbing over how badly he’s treated Bucky, yet he wants Bucky to comfort him. His selfishness has no limits.

He keeps crying until he’s exhausted himself and he’s run out of tears.

Now he just feels numb and empty.

Leon gives him time to compose himself. He waits while Steve wipes his eyes and blows his nose and drinks a glass of water.

Steve takes several deep breaths and slowly straightens on the couch. He forces himself to meet Leon’s gaze. Time for Leon to tell Steve what he already knows—that he’s a terrible, selfish person who doesn’t deserve to have Bucky in his life.

…

But Leon doesn’t say anything like that. Instead, he gives Steve a kind smile.

Steve stares back with a blank expression. He doesn’t deserve that kind smile.

“You ready to keep going?”

Steve nods.

Leon frowns thoughtfully. “So, I’ve been hearing a lot about Bucky from you, and based on your stories, I always thought he was a smart guy.”

Steve stares at him. What the hell does this have to do with Steve? “He is. He’s one of the smartest people I’ve ever known. If he could have gone to school longer, he’d be one of the smartest people in the world.”

Leon looks confused. “You see—that’s the impression I got from your stories…but based on what you just told me, he obviously can’t be that smart.”

The fire immediately lights up in Steve’s gut. “Don’t you _dare_ call Buck stupid!”

Leon holds up a placating hand. “I’m only basing it off what you said.”

“I ain’t ever called Buck stupid! Why the hell would I do that? He ain’t stupid!”

Leon looks politely confused again. “Yes, but anybody who has such little willpower and such little understanding of their own mental and physical wellbeing can’t be that intelligent of a person, can they?”

What? “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You just finished telling me that Bucky had his bags packed and he was ready to go home, and after just a few words from you, he decided to stay. So obviously, he’s easy to manipulate and wasn’t aware that his body and mind couldn’t handle staying in a war zone any longer. He has no ability to make appropriate decisions for himself and needs other people to decide things for him.”

That all sounds really bad. That sounds like Bucky’s a dumb little child who can’t make decisions for himself. “That’s not true. That’s baloney. Complete baloney! Buck can make up his own mind about anything he wants!”

Leon frowns. “But you just finished telling me that he only stayed because you manipulated him into it. You told me it wasn’t his decision to stay, that he didn’t even try making that decision himself—it was all you.”

That’s not—“I—that’s not what I was trying to say.”

“No? You said it was all your fault that he stayed. That implies that Bucky had no part in making that decision. He just blindly followed your manipulations.”

“But Buck ain’t stupid. I know he ain’t. He probably thought it through.”

“Did he? When?”

“I don’t—he probably knew I was staying behind. He’d heard me making plans and putting a team together. He had a couple of days to think things through while his paperwork was processed.”

Wait…

Wait a second.

What the hell did he just say?

Steve looks away from Leon and replays his own words.

Bucky knew Steve was staying behind. Bucky wasn’t an idiot—he had to have known. He’d sat beside Steve in the mess tent while Steve had poured over maps and discussed tactics with people around him. Bucky had always just sat there, staring at his food without eating a lot of it, but Steve remembers seeing him look at the maps from time to time.

So he had to have known that Steve was staying behind.

Which means Bucky must have been thinking the situation through.

But he’d filled out the discharge papers! He’d even packed his bags! He’d gone to see the Colonel to get his boarding card for the ship. “But he was all set to go home! He’d signed the papers and packed his bags.”

Leon shrugged. “He changed his mind. He’s allowed to do that. Or are you saying he didn’t change his mind—you changed it for him? Is he really that weak willed of a person, or that easy to manipulate? A man who had provided for two families since the age of twelve and survived the Great Depression and almost a full year at the front isn’t a man who fits those characteristics.”

Steve knows—he _knows_ —that Bucky isn’t weak willed. And out of the two of them, it’s actually always been Steve who falls into Bucky’s little manipulative traps, not the other way around. “But he was so tired and he wasn’t doing well. He was a wreck—physically and emotionally. It makes sense that his brain wasn’t in top-form.”

“Maybe that was part of it. But not keeping up with tiny details is one thing. Deliberately choosing to miss your boat home and to unpack the belongings which you’d packed up is another thing. Even if somebody’s exhausted and not fully emotionally present, they’d notice while they’re doing those things that something isn’t right. Bucky had plenty of time to change his mind, didn’t he? Did he ever wake up and say ‘hey, wasn’t I supposed to catch a ride home?’”

Steve snorts. “No. But even if he did wake up thinking that, he wouldn’t have said nothing. He wouldn’t have wanted to upset me.”

Leon smiles. “You’re basically assuming Bucky was two different people at the same time. You think he was completely incapable of making rational decisions for himself, but on the other hand, he was making complex and sound decisions like keeping specific information from you which he knew would hurt you. That doesn’t make much sense.”

Steve sighs. “Well what does make sense to you? Because this whole thing is starting to look whacky to me.”

“I think Bucky was emotionally compromised, but not to the point where he wasn’t capable of making decisions for himself. He knew he could go home and he chose to stay with you. Maybe he wanted to continue helping the war effort, or maybe his motivations were a lot more personal. Maybe he wanted to keep looking out for you, like he’d done his entire life. Maybe he felt better having you near him. Who knows? You’d have to ask Bucky what his motivations were. But I’m certain based on what you’ve told about Bucky Barnes that he’s a very tough man and very smart, and he wouldn’t have stayed behind if he didn’t want to.”

Steve lets that sink in. It makes him feel a bit better. A bit less guilty.

But only a bit.

So maybe he didn’t manipulate Bucky into staying behind, but that doesn’t mean that everything that happened afterwards isn’t still Steve’s fault.

“Okay, let’s say I agree with you: Bucky stayed behind because he wanted to, not because I tricked him into it. That doesn’t change the fact that everything he suffered afterwards was because I didn’t go home with him.”

Leon gives him a look that Steve can’t read. “You’re taking an awful lot of credit, aren’t you?”

“What?”

“You’re saying you were the only one involved in planning and carrying out the mission to capture Zola? Right? That day on the train, every single action was done on your order. Everybody who was there and everything that was done was controlled by you.”

“Well, no, not exactly. Buck didn’t even have to be there, he could have stayed behind at camp.”

“Okay, fine—Bucky’s presence wasn’t due to you, but what happened to him was still your fault because you were the one who planned the entire mission, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Wrong. You’d been given a mission objective by your commanding officers: capture Doctor Zola. You were given a directive that the capture had to happen as soon as possible, so you had to come up with a plan, even if it if was crazy. But then your commanding officers approved the plan, didn’t they? Why shouldn’t they get some of the blame for what happened on the train?”

Steve doesn’t answer. His mind is whirling.

“You can’t have it both ways, Steve. You can’t decide you were the one pulling all the strings, and then with your next breath, argue that your commanding officers and Bucky weren’t idiots, that they all made the decisions which they thought were best for themselves and their current situations. Either everyone was in charge of their own decisions, or you were the one in control. But you can’t have it both ways.” Leon leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. “You’re not giving Bucky enough credit. We can sit here all day and guess what Bucky’s life would have been like if he had stepped on that boat that day and gone home. But that would be a pointless exercise. What if Bucky would have gotten hit by a car the minute he stepped off the boat? There are way too many variables in life for us to assume that one of our decisions would allow us to map out the rest of someone’s life.”

Leon gives him that kind smile again. “But that’s all irrelevant. Even if you could have predicted the future and you deliberately gave Bucky a choice that would have steered him either away or towards that future—it doesn’t matter. _He_ made his decision. It was _his_ choice. Was it a good choice? That’s up for debate. But it was his choice. And if you ask him, I guarantee that he doesn’t regret staying behind. You’re doing him a disservice and disrespecting him by disregarding the choices he made.”

Steve remembers Peggy’s words.

_Allow Barnes the dignity of his choice._

Leon continues. “As for the other events which took place after Bucky fell from that train—again, you weren’t in control of those events. You know as well as I do that we have to make some very tough calls on the battlefield, but we can’t blame ourselves for things that are out of our control. You had nothing to do with Bucky being captured by Hydra, you certainly didn’t torture and abuse him and keep him locked up for seventy years. And once he broke away from them and found you, you weren’t the one hunting him, were you? In fact, at that point, when you went on the run with him, I think that was the moment when you put Bucky as your first priority, as you had thought about doing back in 1943. You again had the choice between society and Bucky, and this time, you picked Bucky. The fact that the government disagreed with your assessment over whether Bucky was a threat or not, isn’t your fault.”

Steve is sitting there, feeling numb. But he’s listening.

“As for Bucky’s decision to do the surgery—nobody can fault him on that. It was a short-sighted, foolish decision born out of desperation. But when somebody is physically and mentally pushed past their breaking point, there’s no telling what that person will do. And the kindest thing we can do for him is to accept his decision and try to help him live with it. None of that was your fault. You had nothing to do with any of that.”

Now Steve’s getting annoyed. “But then why do I feel like this?! If it ain’t my fault, then how do I get rid of this guilt?”

“What are you feeling?”

“I told you: guilt.”

“Describe it in more detail. What makes that feeling worse?”

Steve barely has to think about it. “Buck suffered through so much. They hurt him in a million different ways and he was lonely and scared for so long. It—Thinking about it makes my heart hurt.”

Leon gives him a gentle smile. “Of course, it does. But that’s not guilt, Steve. You’re feeling empathy for the horrible situations Bucky’s lived through. Anybody with a good heart feels empathy when they’re forced to face the horrific treatment that others go through. And for people who love those who went through such horrible things, it feels even worse. Bucky feeling safe and happy is very important to you and knowing that he was mistreated makes you feel horrible. Maybe it even gives you physical pain. That’s all normal and understandable. But it’s not guilt. You have no reason to feel guilty or responsible for what happened to Bucky.”

“So I’m always gonna feel like this when I think about what Buck’s been through?”

“The severity of the pain will probably fade with time. All things do. But yes, your empathy for Bucky’s suffering will never go away. If it’s getting so painful that you can’t function, then we’ll address it, but in general, it’s good to keep these feelings. Working too hard to block off your emotions and your feelings isn’t good for the long term. If you can live with it, live with it.”

Steve feels like his entire world has been flipped upside down. But not in a traumatic way, rather, a slow, gentle flip. This heaviness in his heart isn’t guilt. It’s empathy.

He didn’t cause Bucky’s suffering.

_He didn’t cause Bucky’s suffering._

Leon ducks his head, trying to catch Steve’s eyes, but Steve’s staring at the coffee table, lost in thought. “Is this why you haven’t been to see your mom? Because you felt it was your fault that Bucky hadn’t come home?”

Steve gives a tiny nod. Now that he’s thinking it through, he realizes that’s kind of silly. “That—that ain’t right, is it? Ma would have said I have to respect Buck’s decisions, and if those decisions meant he didn’t come home, then that was that. But she would have wanted me to visit.”

“You think she would have blamed you for Bucky’s decisions?”

No, Steve realizes she wouldn’t have. “No. She wouldn’t have blamed Buck either. Buck made the decision to stay behind to protect me. She’d say that I was being a bit foolish and should have done the right thing and made Buck come home, even if the only way to do that was for both of us to come home—but if we both wanted to stay, then that’s what we have to live with.”

“And what about today? Wouldn’t she be thrilled that both of her boys _did_ end up coming home?”

Steve tears his eyes off the coffee table and stares at Leon. “I didn’t even think about that.”

Leon smiles gently. “You and Bucky have both made many decisions in your short lives. But the most important thing you have to keep in mind is that both of you are responsible for your own decisions. You can support each other, you can push each other, but neither of you are people who would blindly follow the other around without having decided that it’s what you want to do. Assuming either of you do that is disrespectful to both of you.”

“Well, I make decisions for Buck all the time these days. He just goes along with what I decide.”

Leon shakes his head. “I’m not talking about those types of decisions. You deciding what kind of cane tip to buy Bucky as his first one isn’t a decision that Bucky could have easily made himself. As a caregiver, it’s your responsibility to make those decisions for him because you’re making his life easier. Those aren’t the decisions I’m talking about. Remember when you two were out on your first walk and Bucky didn’t want to cross the street?”

“Uh huh.”

“Do you really think Bucky would have crossed that street if he didn’t want to?”

“I convinced him to.”

“You _encouraged_ him. Being encouraging and giving little pushes isn’t the same as being manipulative. You didn’t _make_ Bucky cross that street—you didn’t even want him to do it because _you_ wanted to do it—you knew he could do it, and you knew it would be good for his self-confidence if he did it, so you encouraged him. But if he’d been too scared to really do it, would you have forced him?”

Steve frowns. “Of course not! I can tell when Buck’s real scared or just a little scared.”

“Of course. You knew Bucky would ultimately make his own decision about crossing that street. You encouraged him, you gave him a little push, you supported him, you gave him guidance…but at the end of the day, it was Bucky who made that decision. Just like he’d made all those other decisions.”

“So me feeling guilty over making Buck stay is really just disrespecting his decisions, isn’t it?”

“That’s right.”

“Buck had to use a lot of strength and a lot of guts to stay, and I’m basically taking credit for that decision. That ain’t right.”

“No, it’s not. And what else isn’t right?”

Steve knows. In fact, his heart aches because he knows and he’s been such a fool. He feels the tears coming again and he struggles to blink them back. “That we haven’t been to visit ma. That she’s been waiting for us for so long and I’ve stayed away because I’ve been silly.”

He knows what he has to do.


	60. Chapter 60

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for the boys to visit Sarah Rogers! I want to thank the amazing Kawherp, who was a huge help with shaping the next three chapters.

Bucky can tell Steve is upset the second he gets home from therapy. He’s tense, his breathing is uneven and his smile is too tight. “What happened? Did Leon say something that—” He trails off mid-sentence when Steve starts frantically spelling on his palm.

“Steve, hang on, hang on, stop. You’re spelling too fast and I wasn’t ready. Let’s go sit down, okay?” Bucky grabs Steve’s hand and brings them to the couch. Once they’re seated and Bucky is mentally prepared, he holds out his hand. “Okay, try again.”

Steve asks him if Bucky blames Steve for having made him stay. He sounds frantic.

“What? Of course not. I offered to go with you but you said you were fine going to Leon’s by yourself. I don’t…there’s no blame there…? I’ll happily go with you to Leon’s office, you know that.”

Steve is erasing his sentence from Bucky’s palm. He’d misunderstood. Steve spells out:

A-Z-Z-A-N-O.

Bucky blinks. That’s a word he hasn’t heard in a long time. That’s a subject they haven’t talked about in a long time. Maybe ever. He can’t really remember. “What about it?”

Steve tells him he knows Bucky wanted to go back home.

“Yeah. Here’s some shocking news: _everybody_ wanted to go home. War is shit, you know that. But we had a job to do, so we did it.”

Steve reminds him he had the right to go home.

Bucky shrugs. “Sure. But I wasn’t gonna leave you there to fight Nazis by yourself, was I? Sure, the new body was great, but you’re still you. I knew you were gonna go running headfirst into things without thinking and get into trouble with the brass. No way was I gonna go home where I couldn’t keep an eye on you. Just like you weren’t gonna leave me sitting in that prison camp. That ain’t how we do things.”

Steve’s fingers are frozen, resting on his palm.

Bucky’s running over the conversation in his head, trying to catch up to Steve. Obviously the punk had been talking about this with Leon and that’s why he’s upset. He’s asked Bucky if he blamed Steve for making him stay. Now that makes more sense. Bucky smiles softly and curls his fingers around Steve’s and gently squeezes them. “Oh, you silly goof. Have you been blaming yourself for me not going home?”

No reply.

Bucky gives Steve’s hand a shake, releases his fingers and runs up Steve’s arm to his face. He’s breathing really hard and his jaw is clenched. Definitely signs Bucky guessed right. “You’re a silly, silly punk. Come here.”

He cards his hand into Steve’s hair and pulls him against his chest. Steve’s arms come up around him and he clings to Bucky, pressing his face against Bucky’s left shoulder. It’s a little uncomfortable, but it’s not painful. Steve must have forgotten he’s pressing on Bucky’s left shoulder, but it’s not that bad, so Bucky stays quiet and lets Steve stay where he is.

He turns his face and kisses Steve’s cheek. “You didn’t make me stay, Stevie. You deciding to stay and fight Nazis and Hydra was always a given. You always wanna fight the big bully, that’s just who you are. The worse the bully, the more you wanna fight ‘em. And for the first time in your life, your body was actually capable of giving a bully a whuppin’. Of course you wanted to stay and fight. But it was my choice to stay with you. Just like you wanted to stay to fight the bullies, I wanted to stay to look after you.”

Bucky squeezes the back of Steve’s neck. “Ain’t no way I would have gone home by myself and left you there. No way. But that ain’t on you, that’s on me. If I could go back in time, knowing what happened after that, I’d still stay, but I’d make damn sure we had a better plan before we got on that train. And the fact we didn’t have a great plan wasn’t your fault either. It was the stupid brass that—well, ain’t no sense getting back into that. But I don’t regret staying behind, Steve, and you sure as hell didn’t make me stay. Have you been worried about that?”

Bucky feels Steve nodding against his shoulder. He sighs. “Steven Grant Rogers, this is why we gotta talk more. I can’t believe you’ve been carrying this garbage around with you.”

Steve still doesn’t seem capable of talking, so Bucky shifts to make himself more comfortable and lets Steve cling to him.

*             *             *

The next day Steve asks him if he wants to go with him to visit his ma’s grave.

The second he hears the question, a happy glow lights up in Bucky’s chest. He’s been desperately wanting to go see Mrs. R, but he hadn’t wanted to go while Steve was conflicted about it. Mrs. R wasn’t going anywhere and it was more important for Bucky to wait until Steve was ready.

Now it seems Leon has helped Steve figure out whatever was keeping him from visiting his ma. Bucky wonders what the hell it could have been that—

Oh.

Of course.

Oh, this silly, silly boy. “It’s cause you’ve been silly, right? You’ve been thinking that she’s mad at you for not bringing me home too, right?”

Tap.

Bucky squeezes his fingers. “And Leon made you see that all of that’s silly? That your ma loved both of us and even if I hadn’t ever come home, she wouldn’t blame you for that?”

Tap. Steve confirms Leon had made him see that.

“So you’re ready to see her now?”

A tap. It’s hesitant.

“You don’t gotta if you don’t feel comfortable. We can wait until you’re feeling a bit better.”

Rub, rub. Steve points out she’s been waiting for her boys for a long time. They shouldn’t keep her waiting.

Bucky smiles. “Sure, keeping her waiting’s rude. But she’d be the first to say that you don’t gotta do things that make you uncomfortable if those things ain’t necessary. You know she’s always watching over us anyway, Stevie. We don’t gotta visit her grave if you ain’t comfortable.”

Steve tells him he does want to see her…

…but he knows it’ll be hard.

“Of course it will. But I’m gonna go with you and we can help each other.”

Steve asks him if he wants to visit his own parents first.

“Nah. I wanna see your ma first. And it don’t gotta be today or any time soon, Stevie.”

Honestly, he’s ambivalent about visiting his pa, and although he _is_ looking forward to visiting his ma, he’s feeling more excited about seeing Mrs. R.

He’d been closer to Mrs. R than his own parents since the day he became friends with Steve, and he’d stopped feeling guilty over that a long time ago. His ma and Mrs. R both worked long hours to provide for their families, yet somehow Mrs. R always found the time to bond with her boys, while his ma never seemed to know what to say to him or have time for him. She’d always throw up her hands and declare that she had no idea what to do with a boy. Mrs. R had had two sisters, so she hadn’t had any prior experience taking care of boys either, but she’d managed to figure things out.

He’s looking forward to visiting Mrs. R, but he won’t push it unless Steve really wants to go. If Steve still isn’t sure about it a few weeks from now, Bucky can probably ask Natasha to take him.

But to Bucky’s surprise, Steve’s next question is whether Bucky wants to go see her tomorrow.

Bucky grins. “Sure.”

Mrs. R, your boys are coming to visit!

*             *             *

It’s freezing cold outside and it’s snowing lightly, but they’re wearing enough layers to be comfortable. Steve had explained that they’d need to do two transfers to get there by train, which would take forever. They decide to catch a hackie.

They don’t talk much on the way there. Bucky’s feeling equal parts anxious and excited. He’s been feeling like he’s on the verge of tears all morning and he has no idea if it’s because he’s happy to see Mrs. R or because he misses her. He’s sure Steve’s feeling the same way.

When they arrive, Bucky keeps his cane out until the pavement changes to gravel. He keeps thinking about Mrs. R, which makes it impossible to stay focused on what his cane is telling him.

“Is there anything big I gotta watch out for, Steve?”

Steve rubs his gloved hand.

“Then can you just guide me? I don’t wanna use my cane.” He puts his cane into the holster and hooks his arm through Steve’s. The pathway curves a little, but it’s easy to keep pace with Steve. He tries to concentrate on the cold wind trying to pierce the scarf wrapped around his face and the shifting of the gravel under his feet, but he keeps getting distracted.

He’s trying to avoid thinking about Mrs. R from her days in the sanatorium. He wants to remember her the way she would want to be remembered. He combs through his memories, sorting through the ten years of precious memories he had built up with her.

He’s shaken out of his thoughts when Steve’s arm abruptly stops moving, which yanks Bucky to a stop. He can tell by the tension in Steve’s body that they’re here. They’re both wearing thick layers of clothes and the only part of Steve that Bucky’s touching is the crook of his arm, but Bucky can tell.

“We’re here, ain’t we?”

Steve doesn’t say anything for moment. Eventually he taps Bucky’s gloved hand.

He know Steve must be feeling a million different emotions right now, staring at Mrs. R’s headstone, but Bucky can’t connect with the moment. Not until he can see her too. “Can—can I touch the headstone?”

Steve taps his arm and gently steers him off the gravel and over softer ground. Probably grass. Taking Bucky’s hand, Steve guides it to a solid piece of stone. Steve releases Bucky’s hand and steps back, letting him explore.

The stone is thick and rough, cut into the shape of a slab with a rounded top. The front face has lines cut into it.

Bucky shuffles closer to it and carefully crouches down in front of it. “Steve, can you put my hand where her name starts? I think I can do the rest.”

He braces himself for the contact, then Steve takes his hand and presses his gloved index finger into one of the engravings.

Bucky traces it carefully. He can tell it’s the letter S.

The next letter starts in a sharp point and two lines run down from it at angles, connected in the center by a horizontal engraving. That’s an A.

As he goes through the letters, he can feel the sadness closing in on him.

She’s really here. This is where she’s been sleeping for the last seventy years, waiting for her boys to come home.

“Hey, Mrs. R.” He blinks hard, forcing back tears. “Sorry we’re so late.”

He traces the letters, moving through the rest of her first name, her middle name and then:

R-O-G-E-R-S.

There are other carvings in the stone, but the letters are thinner and closer together. Bucky can’t tell what they say with his gloves on, but he doesn’t really care. He knows it’s some generic platitude which the people who’d commissioned the stone had put on there. When he’d visited her last, her headstone had been tiny, with barely enough room for her name and the dates of her birth and death. That’s all he and Steve had been able to afford.

The old one had suited her more.

He keeps his gloved hand pressed against the rough stone, staying connected to her.

He takes a deep breath, feeling overwhelmed. He remembers visiting her grave before he’d shipped out, and he’d missed her just as fiercely then as he does now.

Out of the blue, a memory comes flooding into his mind.

It’s the conversation he’d had with her the day he’d gotten hired at the ice house. He has no idea why that particular memory has chosen to come visit right now, but it’s a very nice memory. “Steve, did your ma ever tell you about the time I talked to her about me working at the ice house?”

He feels Steve touch his shoulder and run his hand down his arm and into his glove to draw a question mark. Yeah, that question had been a little vague. Bucky had worked at the ice house for a few years. He’d had plenty of conversations about it with both Steve and Mrs. R.

He takes a deep breath and tries to focus. He really likes remembering this story. “The day I got the job, my ma and pa weren’t real excited about it. Then I went and talked to your ma about it. Did I ever tell you about that? Or did your ma?”

Steve rubs his hand.

“Eddie got me that job, remember? Eddie O’Shea?”

Steve taps his hand. Steve had never liked Eddie so Bucky had braced himself for the tap to be harder than necessary, but it’s not. Maybe Steve is as lost in his head as Bucky is.

Bucky finds the letter ‘S’ again and runs his fingers over the other letters carved into the rough stone. He feels closer to her when he’s touching her name. He likes that feeling. “I was so happy and proud I got the job. You know I didn’t like doin’ the milk and bread deliveries.”

Tap, tap.

Bucky had hated doing the deliveries. The pay was bad, he had to miss morning classes to do it, and the drivers were always horrible to the horses. Plus, he hated bringing other people food when his own stomach and the stomachs of the people he loved were empty. He’d toyed with the idea of snatching a few buns here and there, but he’d seen the boss get others arrested for doing that, so he’d kept his fingers to himself.

When Becca was born, Bucky decided it was time for him to get a grown-up job with serious hours and better pay. That meant he had to quit school completely, but that was a fact he’d accepted when his ma had announced she was having another baby.

He spent weeks looking for something before Eddie had told him there was an opening for a sweeper at the ice house. Eddie’s pa was a supervisor at the ice house and Bucky had been friendly with Eddie for a few months despite him being five years older than Bucky. Bucky met Eddie’s pa, who asked him questions about how hard of a worker he was, felt Bucky’s arms and then decided he’d do. He would be starting tomorrow.

He ran home, very proud of himself and excited about making serious money. He knew both of his parents would be home and he couldn’t wait to share the news. His ma wasn’t working because Baby Becca was only a few weeks old, and his pa had lost his job a few days before. Thinking back, Bucky realized that both of those things were probably the reason they ended up reacting the way they did, but 12 year-old Bucky was too excited to foresee such things.

“Pa! Pa! Guess what? I got a job at the ice house! I’ll be sweeping six days a week, starting tomorrow!”

He waited for his pa to start smiling, but instead of a smile, his pa let out an angry snort. “Jesus, what’s this world coming to? They’re laying off decent, hard-working folks and giving the jobs to the immigrants and the kids?” He slammed his fist on the table, pushed himself up and turned his back on Bucky.

His response surprised Bucky, but he didn’t dwell on it. He knew his ma would react better. He hurried over to where she was putting Baby Becca down on the bed for her nap. “Ma? Did you hear? I—”

“I heard, darling. That’s very nice.” She shot him a distracted, tight smile. “Now hush, Becca just fell asleep. You don’t wanna wake her up, do you?”

That took all the wind out of Bucky’s sails. Those weren’t the reactions he’d been hoping for at all. He was ashamed to feel tears prickling his eyes, but he blinked them back and clenched his jaw hard. He wasn’t a small kid anymore. He was a grown man with a grown-up job who’d be making serious money. He wouldn’t let himself cry just because his pa was being mean and his ma was ignoring him.

But he knew somebody who wouldn’t be mean or ignore him.

Steve was currently in school, but Bucky knew Mrs. R had an evening shift and she should be home, so he ran over to the Rogers’ apartment and eagerly banged on the door. When nobody answered, he felt disappointed again, but he realized she was probably out shopping and would be back soon. Bucky snatched the key from under the brick by the door and let himself in to wait.

She came back from grocery shopping a little while later, carrying two small bags. “Bucky! Are you done your delivery rounds already?”

He jumped up from the table and took the bags from her. One was filled with newspaper wrapped scraps of meat from the butcher and the other was filled with vegetable peelings and ends from the restaurant down the block. Bucky recognized the way the carrot tops were cut. “Nah, Mrs. R. I quit that job.”

He brought the bags over to the kitchen counter and helped her wrap the meat in more layers of newspaper so the flies would stay off it until dinner.

She shot him a surprised look. “Really? Why? I know you didn’t like it but the money was better than nothing, wasn’t it?”

He grinned. “It’s cause I got a new job. A better job!”

And right there was the big, proud smile he’d been waiting for all day. She beamed at him, blue eyes sparkling. She dropped the sheet of newspaper she was flattening, grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him towards her. “Oh, Bucky, honey, that’s fantastic! I’m so proud of you!” She pulled him into her arms and given him a tight hug.

He blushed from the praise and he was smiling so hard his jaw ached. “It ain’t such a big deal, Mrs. R.”

She released him and gave him that unimpressed look that Steve also used. “Of course, it’s a big deal! I wonder—do we have any treats left? Did you and Steve eat the last of them on Tuesday?”

She reached up for the small jar that sat on top of the cabinets. It usually contained some taffy candy or caramels which she bought whenever she had a few cents to spare. He and Steve only got treats on really special occasions, like when Steve came home from the hospital or if they did really well on a test at school. Apparently getting a grown-up job was also a treat-worthy occasion.

But Bucky knew the jar was empty. Steve had come back from the hospital on Tuesday and they’d shared the last bit of taffy from the jar. Before she grabbed the jar, Bucky tugged on her dress. “No, we ate it all, Mrs. R. But that’s alright.”

She lowered her arm, frowned and pursed her lip. “No, that’s not alright. Getting a new job is something special and you worked hard to get it. I’ll get you your treat, Bucky Barnes. But maybe not today,” she said, her Irish accent thickening the words.

He grinned. This was turning out so much better than the conversation with his own ma and pa had. “Can I…can I tell you about the job?”

“Of course! Come, let’s sit down.” She hurried him over to the table and they sat next to each other. “So go on. What’s the job, how did you get it, tell me everything. And mind, just because you’re gonna be repeating all this to Steve doesn’t mean I don’t wanna hear all the details right here and now.”

Bucky smiled happily. This was getting better and better! “I don’t mind telling it twice.”

“Good. Alright, go on.”

“So Eddie told me there was an opening at the ice—”

She frowned. “Eddie O’Shea?”

“Yeah.”

Her frown grew deeper. “You know I don’t like that Eddie. He’s too old for you. You have no business running around with an eighteen year old.”

“He’s seventeen.”

She gave him that look again so Bucky hurried to continue the story. “So he said there was an open—”

“Which ice house? The one on Clark?”

Bucky shifted impatiently. He wanted to get to the good part. “No, the one on Montague. By the river?”

“Oh, yes. I know the one.”

“So his pa’s the supervisor for the day shift and Eddie took me to meet him. He said I looked like a strong boy who could work hard. And then I got the job!”

She beamed proudly, but her eyes looked worried. “Did you tell your pa that Eddie was the one who helped you find the job?”

Bucky snorted. He knew better than to tell his pa anything having to do with people who had an Irish family name. “No. He don’t need to know. You know he’d just complain about it and get into a snit and then ma would tell him to go yell at people at the bar and we don’t got the money for him to go to the bar.”

Mrs. R made that face she usually made when Bucky mentioned his pa’s dislike of Irish people.

“So what will you be doing?” She started looking worried again. “Are you around the ice chipping and hauling? I don’t know if I like that, Bucky. It’s very dangerous.”

He shook his head. “No. I’ll be up on the sawdust floor. Don’t worry, Mrs. R. I ain’t gonna be on the ice floor ever. I’m gonna be sweeping the sawdust and shovelling. That ain’t dangerous.”

Her frown didn’t soften. “I don’t like all that sawdust flying around. You could hurt your eyes, honey. I could probably make you some kind of glasses—like the kind the surgeons wear? You could wear those to protect your eyes.”

He scoffed. “Nobody wears glasses to protect their eyes, Mrs. R! I don’t need ‘em. I ain’t a little kid no more, you gotta remember that. I’m working a grown-up job now.”

She smiled, but the smile was a bit sad. “Yes, you are. But you’ll be careful, right?”

“I will.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

She smiled and squeezed his hand. “I’m so proud of you.”

He beamed at her, feeling flush from the praise.

“So, did you tell your ma and pa about the job?”

That made the smile slide off his face. “Yes.”

She saw his mood change and her own smile faded too. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“They—they weren’t happy like you are.”

“I’m sure they were thrilled.”

Bucky shook his head. “Nah. Pa was mad, and ma was only paying attention to Baby Becca.”

Mrs. R sighed softly and her jaw clenched. Bucky could see that familiar fire light up in her eyes. Steve got the same fire in his eyes when he got mad. “You want me to go talk to your pa? Get this sorted out? That’s not the right way to react to great news.”

Bucky could see that she was tensing up, ready for a fight. Her Irish accent was thicker and she was two seconds away from storming out the door and giving his pa a piece of her mind. It’s no wonder Steve was always getting into trouble for being a hot-head. He couldn’t help it—it ran in the family.

“No, Mrs. R. That’ll just make it worse.” No situation would ever get better if it involved his pa and Mrs. R getting into a room together, especially if they were both mad at each other.

She reined in her temper with some difficulty, then she pressed her lips together, still looking displeased. “I’m sorry they didn’t show you how proud they are. But I know they are. I _know_.”

“But why didn’t they _say_ it?” He whined. He didn’t meant to sound so childish—he was a grown man now with a grown-up job—but the tone slipped out before he could catch it.

“Your ma and your pa have a lot on their minds right now. Their heads are too full.”

“Your head’s always full too. Stevie just got home from the hospital and he’s so far behind in school and the hospital bill’s huge.”

She didn’t respond to that. They sat there in silence for a little while, until she gave herself a little shake. “You know what? I have a great idea.”

“Yeah? What is it?”

“When you were at the ice house with Eddie’s pa, did you look around the sawdust floor?”

“Yeah…”

“Do you remember a lot of details? Like how the other boys looked? What they were doing? How they were sweeping?”

A sense of excitement bloomed in Bucky’s chest. He knew what it meant when Mrs. R asked whether he’d paid attention to details. That could only ever mean one thing…

“You’re gonna draw me at my new job?!”

She smiled, looking just as excited. “If you can tell me all the details I need.”

He nodded frantically. “I know the details!”

“Good. Go get everything ready for me. I’ll get water for dinner.”

Bucky dutifully grabbed the sketching supplies and sharpened the pencils while Mrs. R went out to get water. Together they got the fire going in the stove and put the water on. While he waited for the water to boil, Bucky prepared the vegetables and the meat for stew and Mrs. R started sketching. She asked him questions about how the sawdust floor looked, what the other sweepers had been doing, what clothes Bucky would be wearing and exactly how the brooms looked.

By the time he finished cooking dinner, she was putting the finishing touches on the sketch and Steve came barging in the door.

“Hi, ma. Hi, Bucky. Ma, I’m supposed to tell you that I got into a bit of a scuffle with Ned Tucker but he was—what are you drawing?” He dropped his schoolbag on the floor and hurried over to the table where Mrs. R was putting the finishing touches on the sketch.

She quickly covered the sketch with her arms and gave Steve a smile. “Ask Bucky what his big news is and after he tells you, you can see it.”

Steve hurried up to Bucky, who was stirring the stew on the stove. “What’s the news, Buck? What happened?”

Mrs. R turned the sketch over and came to the stove to continue cooking while Bucky happily told Steve the entire story, except he left out the disappointing reaction of his own parents. Like Mrs. R, Steve glowed with pride when Bucky told him and gave him a tight hug—well, as tight as Steve could make his hugs in those days—and happily yelled that he was so very proud of him.

Then Mrs. R showed them the sketch.

It was amazing. She’d sketched Bucky in place of one of the boys he’d seen sweeping. She’d drawn him standing with a broom, his cap sitting askew on his head and piles of sawdust surrounding him. Little flecks of sawdust swirled around him and there were other boys around him, all busy sweeping.

Bucky in the sketch was bent over with his broom, mid-sweep but he was looking up, smiling ear to ear, showing everybody how happy and proud he was to be working his grown-up job.

“Oh, that’s so beautiful, ma!” Steve breathed.

Bucky didn’t know what to say. “I—I—”

Mrs. R gave him a kiss on the cheek. “You like it, honey?”

He nodded frantically, his throat tight with emotion. She smiled. “Excellent. Steve? Go put this in the best spot in the art gallery.”

Steve gave an enthusiastic yell, gently picked up the sketch and hurried over to the bed to replace the sketch that was currently pinned in the spot of honor.

*             *             *

Bucky smiles sadly, running his finger along the curve of the letter S on the headstone.

“You always knew how to make me smile, Mrs. R,” he mumbles. He runs his hand over the stone, feeling the coarseness of it. “I miss you so damn much. Stevie and I weren’t ready to live without you, you know.”

He’s about to remind her that he’s still annoyed about her having left them too early…

…but then he realizes the alternative would have been much worse for her. He remembers seeing the Army Nurse Corps [recruitment posters](https://i.pinimg.com/736x/42/5e/ef/425eef93795d40c25ad7657a038165d6--history-posters-ww-posters.jpg) all over town. If she had lived to see the war, she would have been conflicted over whether to join the Army Nurse Corps or stay home with Steve.

But whether or not she would have gone to the front herself, eventually she would have had to deal with losing both of her boys. She would have spent the rest of her life without Steve or Bucky. That would have left her a heartbroken, empty shell of a woman and that’s not something Bucky would ever want for her.

“I guess the good Lord was doin’ you a favor, wasn’t he, Mrs. R? He knew Stevie and I would have each other to lean on, so he took you before he took us.” He’s about to tell her that he still thinks God is a big goof who doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing half the time—but he has way too much respect for Mrs. R to ever say such things in front of her.

None of that’s relevant anyway. Bucky wishes she were still here. Not as an old woman, but the way he remembers her: young, happy, full of love and laughter.

He feels tears welling up in his eyes and his throat gets tight. Damn, he misses her. She was one of the only people in his life who he could always count on to listen to him when he had something he wanted to share. Whether he was complaining, bragging or sobbing about something—she was always ready to listen.

There weren’t many people back then who were willing to love a child who wasn’t their own. Plenty of people had trouble giving their own children enough love, but Mrs. R had always made him feel like he was her son, just as Steve was. He’d never asked her to love him or treat him like her own, but she just had—no questions asked, no favors owed, no conditions to meet.

He takes a shaky breath, tears soaking into the scarf on his face. His eyes sting from the cold and he squeezes them shut, bracing his gloved hand against the headstone.

“I miss you so much, Mrs. R,” he chokes out.

He clenches his jaw and takes a few deep breaths, trying to get himself back under control. If he lets himself get too upset, he won’t be able to focus enough for the trip home, and he’s gonna need to focus, because Steve hasn’t touched him in a while and that means Steve is probably not in any shape to focus enough for the both of them.

He wipes his hand across his eyes and gives the headstone a pat. “I’m gonna go check on Stevie. I’ll be back.”


	61. Chapter 61

Bucky pushes himself up, turns and carefully shuffles across the grass, feeling through the air with his hand, trying to locate Steve or anything else he might bump into. He can’t be bothered to take out his cane right now.

He smacks his hand into something solid. “Shit, sorry. Why didn’t you grab my hand, Rogers? Jesus.”

When nobody takes hold of his hand, he yanks his glove off his hand using his teeth, sticks it under his arm and reaches out for the obstacle he’d hit. The bitterly cold wind wraps around his hand and he resists the urge to curl up his fingers. He needs to figure out what’s going on with Steve.

He feels wool and after a bit of exploration, he recognizes the pattern and shape of it as being one of the hats he’d knit for Steve. The hat is at waist-height—which means Steve is kneeling on the ground.

Shit. Steve had seemed fine on the walk through the cemetery. His arm hadn’t been unusually tense and he’d walked at a steady pace. He’d also seemed fine when Bucky had asked him questions, but it’s very difficult to judge how Steve’s doing based on small taps on his glove-covered hand, so maybe he hadn’t been fine then.

Steve had probably been falling apart while Bucky was asking him stupid questions and he’d had no idea. Steve could have been kneeling behind him, sobbing and in pain—and Bucky was busy staring at Mrs. R’s headstone and talking about working at the ice house.

He knows it’s not fair to blame himself. How the hell could he have known that Steve was falling apart behind him? But just because blaming himself isn’t right doesn’t mean he won’t do it.

“Oh, Stevie.” Bucky gently runs his hand over Steve’s hat and down one arm, getting a feel for how he’s situated. He kneels in front of him, careful not to smack into him.

He finds Steve’s shoulder and his other arm and carefully shuffles closer, ignoring the sharp, moist bite of the snow-covered gravel against his knees. Ignoring his discomfort, he runs his hand along Steve’s jacket and scarf to his face.

Steve’s shaking and his face is wet, the tears already cold against his freezing skin. Bucky wipes the tears away the best he can. “Your eyes are gonna freeze shut, punk. Jesus.”

He pulls his glove back on using his teeth for help and pulls Steve against him, guiding Steve’s face into his neck where it’s a little warmer. Bucky rubs his back and tightens his grip around him.

“I miss her too, Stevie. I miss her so much.” The second the words have left his mouth, the grief comes flooding back, choking any other words in his throat and making the tears well up again. He tries blinking them back, but that’s a lost cause. He lets them go, feeling the cold wind biting into them as they fall.

The vibration of Steve’s body changes. Bucky’s scarf prevents him from being able to feel if Steve’s lips are moving against his neck, but he thinks Steve is probably saying something.

He waits until the vibrations change back to the fainter trembling from earlier, which he thinks means Steve is done talking. He has no idea what Steve said, but he can guess he’s talking about his ma.

“I know she’d be so proud of us. She knows why we haven’t come to see her earlier and I know she’d be okay with it. She’s so, so, so happy to have her boys back, you know that.”

That makes the vibrations change again. Steve is saying something else and his body is tenser. He’s angry. Not at Bucky, but maybe what he’s saying is coming from a place of anger.

Bucky really wants to know what Steve is saying, but he knows Steve doesn’t have the focus to take off his gloves and spell right now. He’ll just keep his comforting as neutral as possible and hopefully that’ll calm Steve down a bit. As much as he likes being here with Mrs. R, it’s really cold and she’d be the first to say they’re idiots for kneeling on the snow-covered ground in the middle of winter.

“I’m so proud of you for coming here. That took a lot of guts and she’d be proud of you too. It’s okay, Stevie. You take your time. It’s all gonna—”

Steve interrupts him again with the tense, angry talking.

“I—you know I can’t hear you like that. I know you don’t wanna sp—”

Steve pulls back from him, fumbles with Bucky’s hand, yanks off his glove and starts spelling. He’s angry and upset and his fingers are pushing hard into Bucky’s palm.

Bucky struggles to keep up with the rapid stream of letters. It’s difficult to focus on the signals instead of the freezing cold wind that’s wrapping over his hand.

Steve tells him it’s not, not, _not_ going to be alright. He doesn’t like that his ma is lying here in the winter in the cold ground. He doesn’t like that they’re gonna go home without her.

He wants her here, here, _here_ with them. He wants her to come home with them.

That lump grows in Bucky’s throat and he tries swallowing around it. He remembers having this exact same conversation with Steve ten years ago when they’d buried her.

Steve had been quiet and pale during the entire speech the priest had given. A bunch of people had come out for the service, including Bucky’s ma and his sisters, but neither Steve nor Bucky could focus on anybody except the woman lying in the plain box being lowered into the ground.

That’s when Steve had taken a step forward, as if he’d wanted to stop the journey of the coffin.

“I—Buck, it ain’t. That ain’t right. We can’t—she ain’t. That ain’t right.” He’d turned to Bucky and stared at him, eyes filled with despair and confusion.

Bucky hadn’t had the strength to do anything more than wrap his fingers around the bottom of Steve’s suit jacket and keep him from getting closer to the open grave.

Steve had stood there, his body tense as they’d watched her coffin reach the bottom of the grave. The cemetery staff began shoveling dirt into the hole and Bucky watched each clump of dirt hit the coffin with an ugly thud.

Steve had visibly recoiled at the sound and he took another step forward. Bucky had tightened his grip in his jacket. “Steve. Steve, stop.” His voice had been a faint whisper, which was all he could manage.

“Buck, they can’t just—that ain’t right. She’s gotta come home with us. She’s gotta—she ain’t staying down there. She ain’t—she ain’t gonna stay down there!”

Bucky’s mind was frozen. He’d wanted to comfort Steve but he had no idea what to say.

Steve had torn his eyes off the coffin and glared at the cemetery employees. “Hey! Hey, stop! You can’t just shovel dirt on her!” When they’d ignored him, Steve had shaken off Bucky’s weak grip on his jacket and started towards the shoveling men.

Bucky hadn’t reacted fast enough, but thankfully his sisters, Laura and Elsie, and Mr. Hartley from the bookshop stepped forward and grabbed Steve before he’d gotten closer to the grave.

Bucky remembers Steve had said the same thing over and over again: “She don’t belong down there. She don’t. She’s gotta come home with us. She ain’t gonna stay down there. It ain’t right. That’s not right.”

Steve hadn’t talked about anything else for days. He switched from anger to bewilderment and back again. His ma should have come home with them. She didn’t belong in the cold, dark ground. It wasn’t right.

*             *             *

Steve is spelling the same thing over and over again.

He wants her to come home with them. He needs her. They both do.

“I—I know, Stevie. I—” It’s on the tip of Bucky’s tongue to say that he misses her too, that he wants her to be here too, that he wishes she would come home with them…

…but that would lead to both of them getting even more upset.

He can practically feel Mrs. R kicking them from where she’s lying beneath them, telling them to get off the cold, wet ground and go sit somewhere where they won’t catch their death.

Bucky needs to move this conversation into a better direction. He curls his fingers over Steve’s and holds them fast when Steve tries tugging them loose to keep spelling. “I know you’re upset, Stevie. I am too. But we gotta remember what she’d say if she were here. She’d—”

Steve’s fingers yank themselves out of Bucky’s grasp and one of Steve’s hands holds his hand flat while he rapidly spells out angry words.

His ma is _not_ here. She’s _not_. So it don’t matter what she’d say.

“But she _is_ here. She’s lying just behind us, and we can see her headstone any time—”

Steve interrupts him, fingers flying. He doesn’t want a stupid stone. He wants his ma. There’s too much he needs her for. He needs her to help him teach Bucky how to do new things. He needs her to help Steve with his stupid head. He needs her to sketch with Steve and play games with them.

He wasn’t ready to lose her. He will _never_ be ready to live without her. He wants her here, right now, and he wants her to stay forever.

He wants…

Steve’s fingers abruptly stop moving and they’re trembling. Bucky finds Steve’s face. He can feel fresh tears streaming down his cheeks.

That lump is growing thicker in his throat again and he clenches his jaw hard.

Damn it! Keep it together, Barnes! They’re both gonna freeze if neither of them can stay in control, and Mrs. R will be angry with them for eternity. They’d both managed to come home from the war, survived things nobody else could have survived—only to freeze to death because they’re kneeling in a cemetery in the middle of God damn winter? He can feel Mrs. R glaring at them from below.

He gently wipes the tears off Steve’s cheeks. Steve pushes his hands off his face and then a weight smacks into Bucky’s chest. He touches it and feels the knit wool texture of the hat—Steve having slumped against Bucky’s chest. He shifts himself, pulling Steve closer to him. He slides his fingers into the bottom of Steve’s jacket, letting them have some much needed warmth. His legs are completely numb from the cold and his nose aches from the chilly wind.

“Steve, you gotta listen to me, okay?” Bucky waits for Steve to give him a tap, frantically trying to put his thoughts into order. He knows he has to choose his words very carefully.

Steve is shaking but eventually he taps Buck’s thigh.

“You know this was better than the alternative. We have each other, but what if she had lived to see the war? She would have lost both her boys and you know what that would have done to her. If we had to lose her, it was better that we lost her before the war. Before she ever had to think about either of her boys fighting and dying far from home. The only thing she had to be concerned about is us surviving the normal day-to-day grind, and she taught us how to survive the grind, didn’t she?”

Steve shifts and Bucky can feel him trying to pull Bucky’s hand off his back so he can say something, but Bucky tightens his grip on the bottom of Steve’s jacket and doesn’t let him start talking. “Hush and let me talk. Your ma knew that she’d raised two strong and brave fellas and we’d figure out how to survive without her, didn’t she? And we did learn how to survive without her, didn’t we? We didn’t sit in your old apartment and wither away.”

That’s not completely true, since Steve had withered away in the old apartment for a while and things did go pear-shaped for a bit, but then they’d figured things out. But Bucky doesn’t want to dwell on those details

“And we did more than just survive! We had our own apartment and we had good jobs and we went to war to serve our country.”

He brushes his nose over the wool hat and finds a patch of skin. He gives it a kiss, the skin icy cold against his lips. “Look at what you’ve managed to do in the last few years! You got an apartment and you know how to pay all your bills—even the new things we didn’t have back then. You figured out how to use a computer and the internet. You’re cooking so many new, interesting things. You’re using a phone and you’re texting with people. You even buy things online and you have your blog. You’ve been working on that blog page with all the links to the helpful websites, right? You’ve figured out how to do so many things, Stevie! So many!”

Steve shifts again, but he seems less tense. This time when he gropes for Bucky’s hand, Bucky lets him have it.

Steve reminds him that Bucky has learned so many things too. He can walk with his cane and understand the manual alphabet and he takes care of Maggie and his plants.

That reminds Bucky how utterly pathetic his list of accomplishments is compared to Steve’s, but now is not the time to dwell on that. Bucky forces a cheerful smile onto his face. “You see? We’ve both been making a good home for ourselves in this new century, even without her here to help us. But she’s still watching over us and we can come visit her here anytime we want. I ain’t saying it wouldn’t be fantastic to have her come home with us and help us, but we know how to do things on our own.”

Steve taps his hand, but the tap is hesitant. His fingers rest on Bucky’s palm while Steve collects his thoughts.

Steve tells him they’re fine because she had taught them both how to be smart, brave boys, didn’t she?

Bucky smiles. “Yeah. Yeah, she did. And she’s so proud of us, you know she is.”

Steve is still, his shaking having calmed. He seems to be thinking everything over.

The break reminds Bucky that even if Mrs. R were to kick them in the butt from where she’s lying below them, he wouldn’t feel it because his butt and the rest of him are frozen. But before they can leave, there’s one more thing they need to do.

“Hey, Stevie? Do we wanna give her the presents now?”

Steve tenses—hopefully from excitement—and pulls back from him. Bucky takes the opportunity to struggle back into his glove. It’s even harder now than it usually is because his hand is frozen.

He’s about to lift his glove and hand to his mouth so he can use his teeth for help, when he feels hands touching his own, and Steve gently pulls the glove over his hand for him.

Then Steve pulls back and Bucky waits until Steve presses an open plastic bag into his hand. Bucky reaches inside and gently touches the fluffy Chenille flower strands which he’d cut off the plant at home. It’s hard to feel them with his glove on, but he feels something in the bag.

He slowly pushes himself up—swallowing a groan at the protest his numb legs put up—and carefully feels his way back to her headstone. He holds the plastic bag between two fingers and finds her headstone with the other three.

He crouches down and runs his hand over the rough stone, finding the letters of her first name. He traces the S and the A to make sure he’s at the right headstone.

He carefully pulls out a strand of the fluffy flowers and holds it up for Mrs. R to see. “Hey, Mrs. R. I brought you a Chenille flower. I like it cause I can tell what it looks like. I thought you’d like to have it keep you company.”

He carefully pushes the flower into the sparse snow covered grass at the base of her headstone so it won’t blow away in the wind. He runs his hand up the headstone and traces the letters of her first name again. “I’m gonna step back so Stevie can show you his present, okay?”

Bucky gets to his feet but before he can step aside, Steve bumps into him and tugs Bucky’s arm to bring him back down. Steve wants to show her his present together.

Bucky waits while Steve shifts beside him. He knows Steve is pulling the picture frame out of the plastic bag and holding it up for Mrs. R to see. They both know seeing Steve’s art was one of Mrs. R’s favourite things in the world, so they brought her a picture Steve had drawn.

Bucky knows Steve had drawn himself and Bucky sitting on the couch, with Mrs. R sitting between them. Bucky had helped Steve plan the drawing so he knows what’s on it. He thinks he can picture what it looks like pretty well.

Steve had drawn Bucky and Steve at their current ages, and Mrs. R was drawn the way they both liked remembering her. She’s cradling Maggie in her hands on her lap, and both Steve and Bucky have their arms slung around her shoulders.

They’re all smiling and happy.

Bucky waits while Steve shows her the picture. He figures Steve is telling her about how they’d come up with the idea for the drawing. He feels Steve tug on his hand and he lets Steve pull his hand until he’s touching the picture frame. That’s probably Bucky’s cue to talk.

He smiles softly. “The picture was Steve’s idea, Mrs. R. He’s a smart kid when he wants to be, ain’t he? He did a great job sketching it, didn’t he?”

He feels something bump against his head and when he shifts back a bit, he feels wool brushing his forehead beneath the brim of his own knit hat. He presses back against Steve’s forehead. “She’d be so proud of us, sweetheart.”

And when Steve calmly taps his leg, Bucky knows they’re doing okay.

He takes his hand off the picture and finds the headstone, tracing the letters of Mrs. R’s name. He waits, giving Steve a few minutes to talk to his ma in private.

Eventually he feels his thigh being squeezed and Steve’s fingers are sliding into his glove. He asks him if he’s ready to go home.

“Only if you are.”

Tap, tap.

There’s no hesitation in the taps.

Excellent.

Bucky kisses his glove and presses it against the headstone. “It was swell visiting with you today, Mrs. R. We’ll be back soon. Sooner than 70 years, I promise. Now we’re gonna go get warmed up so you can stop kicking our butts from down there.”

Steve helps him to his feet and guides Bucky off the grass and down the gravel path. It’s so damn cold that Bucky isn’t tracking where they’re going at all, so he’s thrilled Steve didn’t even bother asking him if he wants to use his cane.

He’s ready to be home in their nice, warm apartment.


	62. Chapter 62

Steve is so cold his brain is barely functioning so he’s glad Bucky doesn’t want to stop for frequent conversations. They walk out of the cemetery and catch a hackie back home, only speaking when absolutely necessary.

They stumble into their apartment, shed their frozen clothes and Bucky’s cane in the entryway and hurry to the bathroom to wash their hands with warm water. Steve pulls Bucky into the bedroom and helps him pull on fuzzy sweatpants, thick socks and one of the warm sweaters Steve had knit for him. Steve pulls on his own warm layers and they go to curl up on the couch with a blanket Bucky had knit.

They don’t speak for a while, letting the warmth of their clothes and the apartment thaw their half-frozen bodies. They tangle their limbs together, Steve sticking his frozen fingers under Bucky’s sweater and Bucky rubbing his cold nose against Steve’s neck, both of them making small noises of discomfort as the cold body parts connect with the warmer ones.

Steve can’t count how many times they’ve curled up like this, dressed in their warmest clothes and trying to get each other warm.

Eventually Bucky lets out a relaxed sigh. “I’m feeling better. How’re you doing?”

“Better,” Steve mumbles, digging under the blanket for Bucky’s palm and spelling ‘fine’ on it.

Now that he’s warming up, the emotions of the day are starting to come back. What a huge day this has been.

He actually went to see his ma!

And for the first time since he’d watched her coffin being lowered into that grave ten years ago, he’s not as angry about her staying in that grave. He still wishes she were here with them, but most of the accompanying emotion is sadness, not pure anger.

He shoves them over so he can curl up against Bucky’s chest and press his nose into his throat, feeling him swallow and shift.

Bucky rubs his hand over Steve’s back and tugs the blanket around him. “You want me to make some hot cocoa?”

“Later.” Steve slips his hand under Bucky’s sweater and rubs his stomach. He doesn’t want to move for a while.

Maggie shifts where she’s lying on the upper level pad of her cage. She’s glaring at him.

“I know, Mags. We were both idiots, sitting out there for so long in the cold. Thank God my new body can handle it, huh?”

Her glare doesn’t soften. Well, he deserves that. He lets himself drift in the warmth, his toes tingling unpleasantly as feeling returns to them. To distract himself, he tries to remember some of the things he’d wanted to tell Bucky while they were at the cemetery, but they hadn’t had time.

Oh, right! He’d wanted to tell Bucky about his pa! Damn it. He’d completely forgotten to show Bucky his pa’s grave. Shit. Good job, Rogers.

Guilt seizes his heart and he fumbles for Bucky’s hand so he can apologize.

Bucky sits up from his comfortable slouch and frowns when he understands what Steve’s saying. “Why are you sorry? What happened?”

Steve just spells out ‘my pa’. He knows Bucky will figure out what he’s trying to say.

“What about your pa? Oh, Mr. R’s right next to your ma! Of course! Hey now, don’t you go apologizing about not telling me. I should have remembered. I’ve been going to visit your pa with you for our whole lives! I should have remembered he was right there. Shit! We’ll have to go back when it’s warmer and spend more time with both of them. But don't worry—your pa understands how hard that was for you. Of course we were very focused on your ma. He ain’t upset over that.”

Steve taps his hand. He hopes that’s true.

He hadn’t meant to ignore his pa, but from the second he’d found his ma’s headstone his eyes had stayed glued there, despite the flare of guilt in his gut.

Visiting his pa’s grave had always been a strange experience, even when he was younger. His pa had died two months before Steve had been born and his ma had done her best to tell him about his pa and she’d sketched him often, but Steve hadn’t ever truly connected with him.

He’d always gone to visit his grave with his ma, but he’d always focused more on his ma and supporting and comforting her. The reality of seeing his pa’s grave had always made Steve a little sad, but it was nothing compared to how he’d felt seeing his ma’s grave.

Bucky would accompany them often and he loved hearing stories about Steve’s pa and his youth in Ireland and his heroics during the Great War, but they’d both spend more time holding Steve’s ma’s hands and telling her it would be alright when she’d start to cry.

“Sorry, pa,” Steve mumbles. “We’ll visit when it’s warmer and we’ll bring you presents too, I promise.”

He snuggles up against Bucky again. “Did I tell you how much their headstones had changed?”

“No. Tell me.”

Steve had barely recognized either of their headstones. He’d been looking for the headstones he was accustomed to (not the fancy new ones), the layout of the grounds had slightly changed since his last visit, plus he’d forgotten about the 70 years of weathering which the stones had undergone.

Once he’d realized that his memory wouldn’t be a reliable guide for this, he’d slowed down and read the inscriptions on each headstone, which is how he’d eventually found them.

“They changed so much, Buck. The last time I saw them they were all smooth and this beautiful white-grey color. Everything carved into it—their names, the Bible inscriptions and the dates and all that—were all so crisp. You could read it from two rows away.”

“How many times did you see ‘em before you shipped out?”

“The new stones?”

“Yeah.”

“I only saw them once. They changed them when my USO tours got real popular. I was travelling all over the country and I only saw them before I went over to do that tour for the troops.”

“Must have been a shock seeing the fancy headstones, huh?”

Not really. In the months before that, everything in Steve’s life had been flipped upside down and thoroughly shaken, so Steve actually hadn’t been surprised at seeing the huge, fancy headstones. He spells that out for Bucky.

Bucky frowns. “They didn’t tell you about it?”

“Oh, they probably did. But things were crazy back then. I had a new body and a completely new life. I was travelling the country, acting in movies, learning lines, performing on a stage and I had people stopping me on the street asking me for my autograph and wanting me to hold their babies. People would surround our little bus when we’d travel between cities and they’d go nuts. Everything—everything was a big, crazy blur.”

He doesn’t like remembering that period of his life.

Prior to that, he’d often felt like his life was out of his control. He’d get sick, bills would be due, he’d lose jobs—but he’d realized very quickly that those things were nothing compared to having his entire life scheduled and every decision made for him.

He was so pre-occupied with learning about this new body of his that he hadn’t been too fussed about how ridiculous his lines were in the movies he was shooting or if somebody was telling him when and where to go at all hours of the day. He was actually thrilled that the USO performances were so heavily choreographed. With practice, he could make his new body do what they wanted him to do.

But left to his own devices, he was constantly tripping over his too-long legs, knocking things over with his too-long arms and breaking glasses and pencils when grabbing them with his too-strong hands. It scared the shit out of him the first time he grabbed a glass and it just shattered in his hand. He had to re-learn how to hold a pencil all over again. Even writing was awkward and it took months until he was back to sketching comfortably.

His lungs felt weird. He was used to having to take deep breaths to get the air he needed, but when he did that with the new lungs, he’d get light headed and trip over things. Being able to hear out of both ears was very strange. He was used to not being able to hear out of the left ear, so he was being constantly startled by loud noises on his left side.

Then there was the annoyance of constantly bumping his head into things when he ducked through doors which he thought he’d fit under. He’d been given military uniforms to wear and one set of civilian clothes in his new size, but all of his old clothes didn’t fit anymore, including the jacket Bucky had made for him out of scraps of material the Christmas before he’d shipped out. That was annoying.

The few times he’d gone back to their old apartment in between tours and other engagements, he was always overwhelmed with how awkward he felt. The mirror on the wall was way too low, the dishes were crammed too close together in the cupboards, and the pencil stubs he had carefully saved up were too small for his big hands to use.

Bucky lets out a laugh. “You spoiled little goof, you. I never complained about that mirror being that low.”

Steve smiles and smacks him lightly.

He always tried remembering the positives: his back and heart didn’t hurt anymore, he could see clearly, he wasn’t going to get sick anymore, and best of all, he could hear out of his left ear again. But it was a very, very strange feeling to no longer have the body he’d fought for and protected and fed and cared for his entire life.

Steve had gone to visit his ma the day before his boat was due to leave for the front.

He’d traced the smooth, polished headstone and stared at the letters spelling out her name. “Hi, ma. It’s been a few weeks, I know. I got another letter from Buck yesterday. He wrote it three months ago, but slow mail is better than no mail, right? Anyway, Buck’s doing alright. Well—he’s doing as good as he can be. You know him. He tries to be real positive in his letters, but I can tell that he’s having a hard time. He loves the sketches I sent him. You remember I told you about ‘em, right?”

He chatted with her some more, telling her about Bucky’s letter, promising her he’d packed everything he’d need for his trip and that he’d be careful over there. “I ain’t promising I won’t get involved in any of the action, ma, because you know me. I ain’t happy just being a dancing monkey. But I promise, I’m gonna do my best to come home, and I’m gonna do my best to make sure Buck comes home too. If things go well, we’ll both come see you when the war’s over, okay?”

Bucky smiles after Steve tells him what he’d said to his ma, and rubs Steve’s back. “You kept your promise, punk. We did come see her after the war, didn’t we? She was probably hoping we’d do it a bit sooner, but that couldn’t be helped.”

Steve sighs softly. He still wishes—he will _always_ wish—that things had turned out differently. But Leon was right. There’s no telling if things would have turned out worse for them or better if Steve had made different choices back then.

And Steve’s choices are only part of it. Bucky had choices too and they were his choices to make, not Steve’s. “I—Buck, I still wish she were here.”

Bucky smiles sadly and kisses his temple. “Of course you do. I do too. I wish none of the boys who went over there had been killed. I wish that nobody would ever die and nobody would ever get hurt and nobody would ever get sick. But that ain’t how life works, Stevie. All we can do is be grateful for the good stuff, mourn for the bad stuff and try to live life the best we can.”

Steve pokes him in the stomach, then picks up his hand again to keep spelling. “When d’you get so smart, huh?”

“Oh, I was born like this. It’s a burden I’ve slowly come to accept. It’s tough, but somehow I’m managing.”

Steve laughs and elbows Bucky in the stomach.

“Hey!” Bucky smacks him on the butt. “Watch that elbow. Anyway, how did her headstone look today? It felt rough to me, not smooth.”

“It was dark grey and real rough. The edges of the letters used to be real crisp but now they were kinda wobbly. D’you feel that?”

“Uh huh. That must be what 80 years of sitting out in the rain and snow does, huh?”

Steve taps his hand. “I think it’s a good thing. I know ma hated the fancy new headstone. Now hers and pa’s fit in much better.”

He’s still stuck on Bucky mentioning ’80 years’. He can’t _believe_ his ma has been in the ground for 80 _years_. He tells Bucky that he finds that weird.

“Of course you do. I do too. For us, she’s just been gone for ten years.”

“Can we use those years when we’re talking ‘bout her? Not the real years?”

Bucky kisses his hair. “We can do whatever you want, sweetheart.”

“And can we talk about ma more? Like when we remember something about her? Not just when we’re sad.”

“We can talk about her whenever we want. There ain’t no rules about that.”

Steve smiles and snuggles happily into Bucky’s sweater. “We did good today, Buck, didn’t we?”

“Of course we did! That was a huge step for both of us and I’m so glad we were brave enough to do it. She’d be so damn proud of us.”

“Hey, you remember how we used to play punchball with ma?”

Bucky grins. “Do I remember playing punchball? Jesus, I think we spent most of our childhoods playing punchball, didn’t we? You remembering a specific time?”

“Uh hmm.” Steve taps his hand.

“Tell me about it.”

Steve and Bucky had been playing stickball with some of the boys in their neighborhood.

Steve was terrible at stickball. He couldn’t run fast enough, he couldn’t see the ball clearly and he couldn’t throw or hit accurately enough, but he still loved playing. The other boys tolerated him when he was playing outfielder because he would get paired with Bucky, who would do most of the work for him. But when it came time to switch around and Steve was getting ready for his turn at bat, that’s when the complaints always started.

“Steve doesn’t get a turn at bat! He can’t hit good and he can’t run good!”

“Hey! I do too get a turn at bat!”

“You’re too slow!”

“Well, you’re too dumb, Frankie, and nobody’s stopping you from playing, are they?”

Then Bucky had waded into the argument too and declared that if Steve wasn’t allowed a turn at bat, Bucky wouldn’t take his turn. And they all knew that Bucky could hit well enough to bring everybody out on bases, including himself, home.

So Steve got his turn. The broken chair leg that was their bat was heavy and it was a struggle to keep a tight grip on the rough wood. He could feel splinters digging into his palms, but he refused to drop the bat. He knew he could do it.

Bucky was shouting encouragements from the side while the pitcher wound up.

When the ball came sailing towards him, Steve really tried judging the distance right, but the ball was always a fuzzy blur and the bat was too heavy for him to get his swing right. He managed a swing but missed the ball.

“That’s okay, Stevie! It wasn’t a good throw, that was the prob—”

“You’re terrible, Steve!” Frankie interrupted Bucky’s encouraging words.

He heard Bucky let out an indignant shout of: “Hey! You keep your mouth shut!”

Then he heard a little commotion behind him, but he didn’t take his focus from the pitcher.

“You can do it, buddy! I know you can! Just focus on the ball, squint hard and swing when you think it’s time.”

There was nothing from Frankie and Steve focused on Bucky’s positive words and squinted at the pitcher in the distance. He saw a white blur when the ball started coming towards him and he swung when he thought it was time…but he missed again.

Darn it! He and Bucky spent hours practicing and Steve was sure he could hit the ball at least once.

There was more commotion behind him, but Frankie stayed silent. Steve was pretty sure Bucky had something to do with that.

He was starting to feel anxious. He really, really didn’t wanna get out again. He didn’t wanna let his team down, _again_. He could do it. He knew he could.

But the bat was so darn heavy, his arms were starting to shake from exertion and he could barely see the pitcher, never mind the ball.

He barely managed to swing the bat when he saw the ball coming towards him for his third attempt, but it was still declared a strike, and he was out.

His team let out a series of boos while he dropped the bat onto the pavement and shuffled away from the cloth bag representing home base. He felt a lump in his throat, angry and upset at himself. Darn it, he was so sure he’d get it this time! All that practice for nothing.

Bucky came running towards him. “That was real good, Stevie! You got three good swings in! You were so, so, so close for that second one! You’ll get it on your next turn.”

“He wasn’t close! He’s terrible!”

“He ain’t allowed another turn!”

That was met with a chorus of agreement and calls of: “Yeah, and next time, Steve ain’t allowed to play with us. He’s ain’t good enough!”

Bucky had rounded on the jeering boys, glaring at them. “Hey! You all keep your traps shut! Ain’t none of you ever put in half the effort Steve puts into things!”

Steve swallowed hard and clenched his jaw. He could feel tears welling up in his eyes but he refused to let them see him cry. “It’s—it’s okay, Buck. Let them talk. You go ahead and do your turn. I’ll wait over by the curb.”

Bucky shook his head. “I ain’t playing if they’re gonna be mean to you!”

“Hey, you promised, Buck!” Frankie yells over.

“That was before all of you decided to be mean jerks! I ain’t helping mean jerks!”

“You ain’t gonna be allowed to play with us next time either!”

Bucky scoffed. “And I’m gonna be happy about it!” He turned back to Steve. “You wanna wait for another turn or you wanna go home?”

“They ain’t gonna let me have another—”

“I’ll make ‘em give you another turn if you want one. But you don’t gotta. It’s your choice.”

Steve had sniffled hard, knowing he was very close to bursting into tears. “I just wanna go home,” he’d whispered.

“Okay. We’re going home.” Bucky slung his arm gently around Steve’s shoulders and they walked down the street, away from the game.

Frankie wasn’t done. “I mean it! I ain’t gonna let you play next time, Bucky!”

Bucky threw a glare over his shoulder. “Go jump in the river, Frankie!” He made a dismissive noise in his throat. “Stupid twit,” he muttered.

He gently rubbed Steve’s back as they walked. “Hey, let’s go home and play punchball with your ma instead, okay? That’s much more fun.”

Steve blinked hard and casually wiped a hand over his eyes. “O-okay.”

“And maybe she’ll let us have some taffy! I’m sure Frankie never gets taffy. Mean boys don’t get taffy.”

Steve swallowed hard around the lump in his throat. The further away they got from the boys, the better Steve felt. “I—I’m real sorry I wrecked the game, Buck.”

“You didn’t wreck the game. Frankie and the other mean jerks did. I was having fun til they started yelling stupid things. You were too, right?”

“Uh huh.”

“So it’s their fault, not yours. Anyway, it’s their loss. Playing punchball with your ma’s more fun anyway.”

They reached Steve’s apartment and trudged up the stairs. Steve’s ma was darning some socks at the table and she looked up as they came through the door. “Back so soon, boys? I thought you were playing stickball?”

Steve opened his mouth to tell her what had happened, but Bucky beat him to it. “Nah, the boys were being stupid. We didn’t wanna play with ‘em no more. We wanted to play punchball instead.”

Steve’s ma had carefully looked back and forth between them. Thinking back, Steve knows his ma probably knew what had happened, but she didn’t want to make Steve feel worse by making him relive it.

“Punchball is a great idea! But first, do we need some treats so we’re strong and nourished for the game?”

Steve and Bucky eagerly nodded. “Yeah. Definitely. We need treats.”

She took down the glass jar from the top of the cupboards and peeked inside. “Alright, we’ve got two pieces of taffy and one piece of caramel. Who wants what?”

Steve opted for the caramel and Bucky wanted taffy. While they were chewing happily, his ma put away her darning supplies, cleared the table and put away dishes from the kitchen counter. When playing punchball indoors, all breakable things had to be put away.

“Boys, when you’re finished chewing, get things ready. Bucky, get the bases set up, I’ll get the ball, and Stevie, warm up that batting arm of yours, young man.”

She went and dug the enormous newspaper ball out of the basket where they kept their toys. The ball was as big as Steve’s head and he never had trouble seeing it or hitting it. It helped that he could use his own arms for a bat and didn’t have to hold anything heavy. Punchball was much better than stickball.

Bucky dug the three old socks out of the basket. The socks were so thin and covered in so many holes that no amount of darning would turn them back into socks, so they were spending their retirement as punchball bases.

Bucky put one on the windowsill, the second under the table and the third by the front door. Home base was the bed.

Steve got himself ready, taking off his shoes and standing on the mattress, swinging his arm around to get it warmed up.

Bucky got himself ready, kicking off his shoes and bouncing on the bed. When his ma was ready, she stood between the bed and the table, balancing the large ball on the palm of her hand and giving Steve a hard look. “Are you ready?”

“I’m ready, ma!”

“Here we go.” She cleared her throat. “It’s a beautiful day out here at Ebbets Field. Steve Rogers from the Brooklyn Dodgers is first up to bat, facing Sarah Rogers from the hated New York Giants—”

Both Steve and Bucky yelled out a chorus of “Boooo!” at the mention of the Giants.

“—Steve is paired with his usual base-running partner, Bucky Barnes. They had seven spectacular home runs in their last game against the Giants. Let’s see how they do today. Sarah Rogers is preparing the first pitch.”

She did a series of elaborate arm movements, then counted down. “Here we go. Three, two, one—” She gently lobbed the giant newspaper ball towards Steve, who raised his arm and easily hit the ball, whacking it against the wall and making it roll towards kitchen cupboards.

“And it’s _way_ out of the park! Another spectacular hit by Steve Rogers!”

Bucky took off like a shot, leaping from the bed and racing towards the first base on the window sill.

“And Bucky Barnes is off—he’s heading towards first base!”

Steve jumped around on the bed. “Go Buck! Faster, faster, faster, she’s coming!”

His ma scooped the ball off the floor and headed towards Bucky, who had slapped the first base sock and was heading second base, under the table. She rounded the table, but Bucky easily dodged her and slipped under the table to touch the second base sock.

“Yay, Buck! That’s great! Stay there, stay there!”

His ma grinned at Bucky under the table. “And Bucky Barnes makes it to second base! Sarah Rogers had no chance of catching that speedy fella after such a spectacular hit by Steve Rogers. We’re preparing for the next hit.”

She came back to Steve and got herself lined up again with Steve excitedly jumping around on the bed.

“Bring me home, Stevie!” Bucky yelled from beneath the table.

“I’ll try, Buck! Get ready!”

Steve got his arm ready, and his ma counted down again. “Three, two, one!” She gently tossed the ball towards him, Steve swung and wacked it towards the window this time, making sure Bucky’s path to the door was clear.

“Go Bucky! Hurry!”

“And another spectacular hit by Steve Rogers! It’s outta here!”

His ma hurried after the ball, and Bucky rolled out from under the table and raced towards the third base sock by the door. He slapped it and then turned and headed for home.

Steve was bouncing on the bed, looking back and forth between Bucky and his ma, who was heading towards the door to tag him out.

“Hurry, Buck!” Steve screamed.

“Sarah Rogers is working hard to get him, but Bucky Barnes is using those speedy legs of his!”

Bucky was sprinting towards the bed, yelling and grinning along the way. His ma tried catching him, but Bucky was too quick, leaping onto the bed and tackling Steve to the mattress.

“Yes!” Steve shouted, raising his fists in triumph while Bucky yelled happily and jostled him.

“We did it, Stevie! We did it!”

“And the boys do it again! Another home run for the dream duo and a big run for the Dodgers!”

His ma raised her arms in triumph and dropped the ball. Whenever Bucky made it home, that was when she switched from being a hated Giants pitcher to being one of their Dodger teammates.

She let out a happy laugh and joined their pile on the bed. “Good job, boys! You did it! The dream duo does it again!”

Steve was laughing, happy and excited and he’d forgotten all about the mean boys from earlier. Here he was, celebrating their big run by cuddling on the bed with his two favourite people in the world.

This was the definition of happiness in Steve’s little world.

*             *             *

Steve can’t keep the smile off his face as he finishes reminiscing about their big run with Bucky.

Bucky is laughing softly. “Those were great days, huh? Your ma was really something.”

Steve smiles. “You know, thinking back, I’ve realized she never tried real hard.”

Bucky laughs. “God no! But having the Giants win wasn’t the point of the game.” He rubs Steve’s back and kisses his head. “She was a hell of a woman.”

Steve snuggles into Bucky’s sweater and picks up Bucky’s hand so he can respond. “Yes, she was. And she raised two incredible boys.”

Bucky rubs his back. “Yes, she did. And her two incredible boys did incredibly well today and she’s so proud of us. I know she is.”

Smiling, Steve relaxes against Bucky. He feels very proud of himself and Bucky too.

For the first time, he’s really starting to understand what his ma had meant when she’d told him that they’d be fine without her. She hadn’t meant they’d ever forget about her or stop missing her, but she’d been sure that they’d be able to live good, happy lives using the tools she’d given them and their own strength.

We’re doing it, ma. We may move a bit slow on some days, but we’re moving forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Information about the games Bucky and Steve played during their childhoods came from the wonderful tumblr series [‘How to Brooklyn’](http://hansbekhart.tumblr.com/post/143767119428/meta-master-post) by Hansbekhart, which focuses on many aspects of Brooklyn life in the 30s and 40s. The information about punchball/stickball can be found in Part 6. Both games are versions of baseball which are played using non-traditional tools in place of the baseball bat.
> 
>  **Next Chapter:** Is everybody ready? Are you sure? Cause it’s braille time! But don’t get too excited…the boys' braille journey doesn’t come without a few bumps along the way.


	63. Chapter 63

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you ready?? It’s time to start learning braille!!

A few days after having visited his ma, Steve has calmed down enough from the experience to get back to his list of ‘Finding Bucky Activities He Can Do Independently’. It’s time to tackle one of the biggest items on the list, but also one of the trickiest.

It’s time to start learning braille.

And Steve is terrified.

He can’t even get started for a few days because he’s so anxious about it. If Bucky can understand braille, he could read again, and Steve knows how much that would mean to him.

It’s a little strange that Bucky hasn’t asked about braille or reading at all since he’d come home. Steve thought he’d complain about missing reading, but he hasn’t. Steve figures it’s because he’s been so overwhelmed with everything that it hasn’t even occurred to him. Braille had been adopted by schools in the US the year before Steve was born, but they hadn’t had any blind students in their class, so it hadn’t ever come up. They’d never known any blind people in their day-to-day lives either, and due to their poverty, their knowledge of the world around them had always been very limited. He doesn’t remember if he and Bucky had ever talked about braille. Maybe Bucky doesn’t even remember what it is.

To avoid causing Bucky unnecessary pain in the early days of him being home, Steve had hidden all of his books underneath the bed, which had removed the potential for triggering him. That probably helped keep the issue of reading off his mind.

But now it’s time to bring books back into Bucky’s world. And that’s a big, big deal.

At first he’d thought about learning braille together with Bucky. That would be fun…

…but then he’d remembered how his previous ‘learning alongside Bucky’ attempts had gone:

He’d introduced Morse Code spelling without trying it out himself. If he had, he would have realized how difficult and time consuming of a process it was. He could have saved Bucky weeks of frustration, which he really could have lived without in those early days.

He’d insisted on walking outside before he’d learned how to properly guide someone. The walks had turned into a frustrating mess and Bucky could have gotten seriously hurt, all because of Steve’s lack of preparation.

He’d thought that practicing the fire drill all in one go would be a simple, straight forward task. He hadn’t stopped to see things from Bucky’s perspective and as a result, Bucky had gotten frustrated and upset.

Steve still feels guilty over those mistakes. He’s done much better with other things, like when he’d tried out the knitting aid and the knitting loom from Bucky’s perspective before introducing them to Bucky. Practicing on his own had allowed him to realize that the knitting aid wouldn’t work for Bucky at all, and he’d been able to introduce the loom instead, which Bucky had loved from the second he put his hands on it.

He doesn’t want braille to turn into a frustrating exercise for Bucky. He can’t risk Bucky having any negative associations with it. If Bucky can master braille, he could add reading back onto his daily activities, which would be a big boost to his self-confidence and give him a huge source of joy.

He knows how important reading is to Bucky—the man’s spent half his life with his nose buried in a book—and it would be a crushing blow to his self-confidence if he came this close to being able to read again but couldn’t succeed at it.

So Steve can’t screw this up. He refuses to be the reason that Bucky doesn’t do well. If Bucky finds it too difficult and frustrating for other reasons, Steve can help fix those problems. He won’t be distracted by the feeling that he’s the reason Bucky’s failing.

So…learning braille alongside Bucky is a recipe for disaster. Steve will take his time and get the lay of the land, and once he’s got the right path identified, he’ll go back and bring Bucky along.

“Okay, Rogers, time to get focused. Let’s learn braille.”

A thrill of excitement runs down his spine and he can’t help but grin. He glances upwards. “Ma, we’re gonna get books back into Buck’s hands! I know, I know—I’ll have to live with taking second place on his list of priorities again, but I can live with that. It’s time to get the book monster’s nose back into a book.”

His ma would always joke that Bucky was born with a book instead of two hands and she’d make them both laugh with ridiculous questions about how Bucky was going to do his lessons at school or do his work when he had a book for hands. Bucky would go right along with it, demonstrating how he could pick things up, sweep sawdust and do other random skills using a book, which always made all three of them laugh.

Thinking about Bucky’s adventures with books makes Steve remember that it had been Bucky who had taught Steve how to read in the first place. Bucky had fallen in love with the idea of reading as soon as he’d realized that written text held the power to educate, distract and entertain. Getting access to books and other written material was something that required money, but reading the words themselves was something anybody could do. There was no extra fee required for reading something when the words were already in Bucky’s hands.

Like many things related to school, reading didn’t go well for Steve. The year they’d started learning how to read was one of those years when Steve spent more time in the hospital and at home than at school. It didn’t help that the teacher would often write passages on the front chalkboard, without providing a paper copy, and Steve could barely read the words. Add in the fact that the teacher felt she had no obligation to help Steve catch up with the material he’d missed, and Steve got hopelessly behind.

Thank goodness that he had a much better and much more considerate teacher by his side: Bucky Barnes. His ma did as much as she could, but in those early days when Bucky was still at school, her top priority had to be making money. So Bucky decided it was up to him to help Steve stay caught up in school, and he fulfilled that responsibility all the way until Steve graduated.

Steve had felt really guilty for a while. Steve had never liked school or learning, yet he was the one who was allowed to keep going to school. Bucky loved school and learning, yet he was the one who had to drop out and start working—and he had to be reminded of what he couldn’t have every time he helped Steve get caught up and finish his homework. Steve tried to be respectful of the situation by working as hard as he could, and he’d always known that he wouldn’t have ever graduated without Bucky’s help, but the unfairness of the situation had always annoyed him.

Bucky always brushed those concerns aside. Steve wasn’t physically capable of doing most manual labor jobs, which meant he’d have a very hard time finding work if he didn’t have other skills. His lower class status and his Irish heritage wouldn’t help him either, so Steve had to stay in school and graduate. Bucky would do whatever it took to make that happen.

And of course, Bucky had been one hundred percent correct. Most of the jobs Steve had gotten prior to the serum were ones he’d only gotten because he could prove that he’d graduated school. Otherwise, the employers assumed he was a moron who didn’t have the mental capacity to do the work properly.

What really annoyed Steve was that everybody automatically thought Bucky was the moron, since he hadn’t finished school. A lot of the men Bucky worked with didn’t have two decent brain cells, but that didn’t apply to Bucky.

But dwelling on the unfairness of life was something his ma never tolerated. Wanting things and getting things are two different things.

In a perfect world, Bucky would have been able to finish school and even go to college and spend his life reading books and learning wonderful things. He wouldn’t have needed to quit school at 12 years old to start working, and no stupid war would have turned their lives upside down.

But they’re not living in a perfect world and never have.

Steve is grateful that at least Bucky can get the ability to read books back. He’d lost so many things, and so many of those things are unrecoverable, but reading books is something Bucky can do. And Steve will do whatever it takes to give him that gift back.

He’ll return the favor Bucky did for him all those years ago: he’ll teach Bucky Barnes to read, just like Bucky Barnes had taught little Steve how to read.

“Okay, ma. Wish me luck! Here we go.”

He finds a fantastic website called [Braille Bug](http://braillebug.afb.org/). It seems to be geared towards younger children, but Steve likes the simplified language. Braille Bug has a [summary page](http://braillebug.afb.org/braille_deciphering.asp) that nicely breaks down what braille is and how it works. It doesn’t seem that complicated. Everything seems to be based on just six dots, which make up a braille cell. That’s not too hard.

Each letter of the alphabet is represented by its own braille cell. He’s surprised to discover that numbers are represented using the same braille cells as the first ten letters of the alphabet, but there’s a handy ‘number’ braille cell that needs to be put in front of them to indicate the next cell represents the number, not the letter.

At first he thinks braille is only used to create very simplified types of sentences: just letters and numbers. But then he realizes these brilliant people created braille cells that represent different types of punctuation too!

Then he reaches a complicated section that tells him individual braille cells can also represent entire words or parts of words. That seems very complicated for his first day, so he decides to stick to the letters, numbers and punctuation first.

He finds a wonderful website that has actual [braille lessons](http://www.pathstoliteracy.org/braille-lessons-listing) on it. Unfortunately, he finds that the lessons don’t take it easy on people at all. Lesson 1 introduces the first ten letters of the alphabet—which Steve saw on the other website—and some examples are listed…

…and then right away, there’s a full paragraph of dots covering the page, with instructions to do the reading exercise.

Steve blinks at the wall of dots.

Jesus.

It looks like Bucky’s pinhole art, but with no discernible pattern. Or like Steve took a paintbrush with black paint and splattered it on the page.

It looks nonsensical.

But, no, Rogers—it’s not nonsensical. He finds if he zooms in much closer, it’s easier to see the individual braille cells, and which dots are being used in the cell. That calms him down a bit.

Okay, he can do this. But he needs a cheat sheet first. He finds a handy [cheat sheet](https://brailleworks.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/Braille-Alphabet-Red-Black700x700-700x700.jpg) that lists out the alphabet, numbers and punctuation braille cells and prints that out. Armed with his new sheet, he flips back to the reading exercise and starts figuring out what the dots mean.

The first cell has dots 1, 2 and 5. His sheet says that’s an ‘H’.

The next cell has dots 2 and 4. That’s an ‘I’.

“H. I. Hi. Oh! Hi!”

He remembers that ‘Hi’ was one of the first words he’d said to Bucky after they’d learned the manual alphabet. He remembers how happy Bucky had been when Steve had done those two little signals and Bucky had understood what he’d said.

And now Steve has figured out that those dots on the page also say ‘hi’!

Since they’ve had so much success with their other communication method which started out with the word ‘hi’, maybe they’ll have just as much success with this.

He feels a surge of confidence. He can do this. He’s been reading braille for twenty minutes and already he figured out how to read ‘hi’. This is completely doable.

Smiling happily, he sits up straighter in his chair, ready to figure out what the rest of the dots on the page mean.

*             *             *

He flies through the first set of braille lessons with ease. Within a few days, he’s got his cheat sheet memorized and he can do the reading exercises slowly but accurately.

Now that he’s done more research, he realizes that the type of braille he’s reading right now (where every letter is represented by individual braille cells) is uncontracted braille. Most books are written in contracted braille, which is what he’d stumbled on during his first lesson. Entire words or parts of words can be represented with one braille cell, allowing people to read much faster and making it possible to display more information on a page.

But Steve decides contracted braille can wait a while. Braille Bug has many braille exercises and games that use uncontracted braille, and he finds out that many children’s books are written in uncontracted braille too, so he figures they have plenty of material to use for practice before they dive into contracted braille.

He’s very pleased at how quickly he’s gotten the hang of reading the braille. It’s really not that hard. He also does the writing exercises from the lessons, translating print words into dots which he draws on a paper and checks against the answer key.

As the days go on, he’s able to do the exercises much faster and with fewer mistakes.

To make sure he’s really gotten the hang of the letters and numbers, he practices on a [website](http://english.fakoo.de/braille-learn.html) that shows him different braille cells and he has to type what the cell represents as fast as he can. Braille Bug also has [fantastic games](http://braillebug.afb.org/Games.asp) which he plays. He needs to unjumble braille cells to answer specific questions, or figure out what the braille answer to a printed riddle is.

He’s so pleased by his progress that he decides he’s ready to read books.

Well—children’s books.

He stumbles across the [Braille Bookstore](http://www.braillebookstore.com/Braille-Bookstore) and finds the section for children books. After much deliberation, he chooses three different books.

 _‘Goodnight, Moon’_ only has 200 words apparently, so that should be a nice and easy one to start with. Plus, he likes that it was published in 1947. It probably doesn’t have a lot of modern vocabulary which would frustrate Bucky. He’s up to speed with most things, but if he can read something where he can purely focus on enjoying the story, he’ll be happier.

He finds one called _‘Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day’_ , which is longer than the first book and it looks like a funny one, so Bucky will enjoy that.

Lastly, he picks a book that’s even longer than the other two, called _‘A Girl Named Helen Keller’_ , which describes Helen’s early years when Annie Sullivan had taught her how to understand fingerspelling and opened Helen’s dark and silent world. Since he and Bucky are big fans of Helen, Steve figures Bucky will enjoy that one.

But since they’re learning braille, Steve thinks it would be nice to get Bucky a book about Louis Braille too. He doesn’t find any on the Braille Bookstore site, but he finds lots of options on another one and he picks the one that looks the most interesting.

Once his order is done, he shuts down his computer with a satisfied smile. In a few days, he’s going to be reading braille books, which means he’s almost ready to start teaching Bucky!

*             *             *

When the books arrive, Steve eagerly settles at his desk and tears the packaging off them. He’s ready to read braille!

He decides to be respectful to the man who had made this all possible and he starts with the Louis Braille book.

[‘Six Dots: A Story of Young Louis Braille’](https://www.amazon.com/Six-Dots-Story-Young-Braille/dp/0449813371/ref=cm_cr_arp_d_product_top?ie=UTF8) says the cover. And right below where it says ‘Six Dots’, is the translation in braille. Steve is thrilled with himself when he can read the braille version of ‘Six Dots’ perfectly. Good job, Rogers!

Time to find out more about Louis Braille and practice more braille reading!

The first page of the story has a beautiful colored illustration of people standing around a small crib, which contains little baby Louis. There’s a small paragraph of printed text below the picture, describing how worried everybody was when Louis was born so small. Steve can certainly relate to that.

He gets sucked into the story right away. Louis had been born fully sighted in 1809 in France, but at age 3 he was playing with tools in his father’s workshop and accidently hurt his eye. Due to the damage and the spreading of the resulting infection, he lost his sight fully by the age of 5.

The first page detailing Louis’ full blindness no longer has colorful illustrations. The page is almost completely black, except the faintest outlines of furniture and the stark-white printed text:

_‘My world was dark and dangerous. I stumbled about the house, banging into chairs, the walls, the door. My body ached. “Where is the sun?” I cried.’_

It immediately brings Steve back to seeing Bucky in the hospital. He knows he’ll never be able to truly understand the fear that Bucky had lived with in those early days. Bucky too had considered the darkness as something frightening and dangerous until he started being able to find his way around.

Steve smiles when he reads about Louis’ father making him a cane and how the simple device gave Louis his confidence back. That sounds familiar.

He gets all the way to the end of the story until he remembers what he’s actually supposed to be doing.

He’s supposed to be practicing braille reading, not print reading.

Right. Okay.

He flips back through the book, looking for the braille-text.

…

But there isn’t any.

…

Steve frowns and flips through the pages faster, skimming for any sign of the familiar dots. Except for the cover page and a reference sheet showing the braille alphabet, there’s no other braille in the book.

What the hell?!

How can a book about Louis Braille’s life not have any braille in it? Maybe this is a defective version. He gets on his computer, finds the page where he’d ordered the book and scrolls down to the reviews.

The vast majority of the reviews are very positive. People are thrilled at how well the authors have represented Louis’ journey and how the book gives readers the chance to experience what Louis’ life must have been like…

…

That’s all wonderful…that’s all very nice…but clearly this book was written for sighted people.

It’s a wonderful book about Louis Braille, which was written purely for sighted people to enjoy.

When he looks at the reviews in more depth, he finds there _are_ a few reviews by people who had made the same assumption he did, and who are equally disappointed that the book isn’t written in braille.

Suddenly worried, he grabs _‘Goodnight, Moon’_. Surely books from the _Braille Bookstore_ …

He frantically flips it open…and thankfully, there _is_ braille on each page. The printed text is on the left page, and the braille is on the right page. Steve flips through the book and makes a face when he notices that there aren’t any pictures…

The words are what’s most important, but he’s sure Bucky would like to look at the…

…oh.

…damn it!

He snorts at himself and shakes his head. He hasn’t had one of these moments in a while. “Rogers, you idiot.”

He looks down at _‘Goodnight, Moon’_ with much more appreciation. This is what a book for a blind reader should look like. The other book is wonderful for sighted readers, but it’s got nothing for a blind reader to appreciate.

Alright, time to see how he does reading _‘Goodnight, Moon’_. He forces himself not to look at the printed text and only focuses on the dots. The dots are actually very hard to see.

He’s gotten accustomed to seeing the black dots on the white background on his computer screen, so it’s hard to see the white dots on the white paper. They’re raised, but they still blend in with the background. Another thing he didn’t realize is that only the dots which are being used are shown. He’s accustomed to seeing the faint outline of all six dots making up each cell so he can clearly see which dots are being used.

This will take some getting used to. Lifting the book closer to his face helps put more distance between the dots and makes them stand out more.

## ⠠⠊⠝⠀⠞⠓⠑⠀⠛⠗⠑⠁⠞⠀⠛⠗⠑⠑⠝⠀⠗⠕⠕⠍

“Dot 6, that means capital letter. Dots 2 and 4, that’s an I. Dots 1, 3, 4 and 5, that’s a N. So that’s ‘In’. Come on, Rogers, you can do it better than this. Dots 2, 3, 4 and 5, that’s T, then H, and that one’s E. T-H-E. ‘In the’. That square shape of dots, that’s a G. Dots 1 through 3 and 5 is an R. E. A and then another T. G-R-E-A-T. ‘In the great’. G, R, two E’s and what the hell is that? Dots 1, 3, 4 and 5, oh, right! That’s another N. Green. ‘In the great green’. That’s another R, two O’s and M. Room. ‘In the great green room’. ‘In the great green room’!”

Well, hot damn! He read the first line of the book! Feeling very happy with his progress and with this whole braille thing in general, Steve looks over at Bucky.

“Buck! I read the first line of a book! In braille! This isn’t that hard at all! You’re gonna love this!”

Bucky is sitting on the floor, building something with his blocks, and Maggie’s lying on her pillow next to him. There’s a small pile of the two-dot blocks on her pillow and Maggie loves chewing on them or  grabbing them with her beak and flinging them off the pillow. Bucky checks her pillow from time to time and puts the blocks back if she’s used up her entire supply.

Steve grins as he watches them. “Everyone’s having a great evening, huh Buck? You’re having fun with your blocks, Mags is having with fun with her blocks, and I’m reading braille!”

As he gets used to the white dots on the white page, his reading gets faster and he manages to finish the entire book before Bucky tells him he’s heading to the bathroom to brush his teeth and then going to bed.

Steve debates hiding the braille books in case Bucky finds them and gets upset. But Bucky never touches anything on his desk anyway. He’s too worried about pressing something or breaking something and making Steve’s work life difficult, and because being lazy is nice, Steve leaves the books in a pile on his desk. He likes being able to do braille reading practice when he’s taking breaks from work.

*             *             *

Bucky hates that he had that moment of clarify while playing Ludo with Maggie. This feeling of being useless has grown stronger ever since.

He used to enjoy seeing the progress he was making with his art projects or his games—but now those successes seem so ridiculous and childish. So he can punch a thumbtack through a paper to make a cat shape—who cares?! So he can build a plane out of building blocks—what good does that do anyone?!

How the hell is that helping him contribute to his family? How the hell could that help him pay the bills or keep things going if things get tough?!

Visiting Mrs. R had reminded him that she’s watching them all the time…and Bucky’s finding that he’s not thrilled about that. He doesn’t like that Mrs. R is watching Steve working and doing all the chores, while Bucky just plays with toys. Except when Steve was too sick to get out of bed, Steve had always tried to help with the chores or find work.

The worst part is, he doesn’t want to ask Steve to help him with this issue, because making Steve worry about this is exactly the kind of thing Bucky doesn’t want Steve doing. Steve spends enough time to worrying about him.

He maintains his cheerful and positive attitude and does his small collection of chores and activities very slowly and carefully so he doesn’t have to bother Steve for help. He doesn’t allow himself to dwell on his uselessness, because there’s nothing he can do about it, and being a grumpy twit is the last thing Steve needs to deal with.

He always reminds himself that he’s the idiot who decided to do the surgery. Not Steve. Not Ross. The decision had been his.

He’s managing to distract himself from the endlessly circling negative thoughts—

—until he finds the damn book.

While Steve’s getting lunch ready, he asks Bucky to grab his can of coke from his work desk. That’s something Bucky can easily do, so he heads to Steve’s desk and carefully feels around for the can.

Normally, he doesn’t touch anything on Steve’s desk except for the mug with the spoon in it. He hates the idea of pressing something or breaking something and creating a mess that Steve has to deal with. It’s the same reason he doesn’t touch the laptop or Steve’s cellphone unless he’s taking pictures with it.

He gently explores the surface of Steve’s desk, looking for the coke. He finds the plastic keyboard covered in the little square buttons, a pen that Steve hadn’t put back into his mug, a stack of papers held together with a paperclip—and a book.

He doesn’t realize what he’s touching when he feels the smooth surface of the cover. There are some little bumps on the surface, but most of the cover is smooth.

But when he explores the side of it and feels the bound pages, he realizes what it is.

And Jesus—it nearly makes him fall over.

It’s the first time he’s touched a book since the war.

They hadn’t had time for books while they’d been on the run, and he’d been forced to use the electronic reader embedded in the wall of his cell at the Raft.

He can’t believe this is the first book he’s stumbled across—but then he realizes Steve probably did that on purpose. The punk probably removed all the books he owned during Bucky’s early days in the apartment. He probably wanted to avoid upsetting him.

And it turns out that had been a very, very good decision.

Because it’s very, very upsetting.

Bucky can’t stop rubbing his fingers along the edge of the pages and the book’s cover, nice and smooth except those strange dots. Despite the dots marring the surface—he hopes the punk didn’t damage the book!—it feels like it’s in nicer condition than most books he remembers reading.

Oh, how he misses reading! It’s such a strange sensation to know that he’s touching a book but he’ll never know what it’s about.

The rational part of his brain tells him the book is probably related to Steve’s work, and if he really wants, he can ask Steve what is says, and he’d interpret every single word for him.

But that’s not what Bucky wants.

He wants to open the cover and let the words pour over him and pull him into the story. Time would lose all meaning and he’d forget about everything bad or stressful happening around him. He used to get lost in books for hours.

In the summers, he’d read by the small window in the Rogers’ apartment. It was the only window in the small apartment and he’d stay glued to it so he had enough light to read by. In the winter, he’d crack open the stove door enough so he could sit on the floor and use the fire to light up the pages. His face would burn from the heat and he’d sweat like crazy, but if he was in the middle of a fantastic book, he put up with it, despite Mrs. R and Steve teasing him about it. He refused to use up precious oil for their lamp for his reading. That oil was for important things like sewing and chopping things, not reading books. For his birthday, Mrs. R and Steve would get him candles so he could read further away from the stove.

But now that’s all in the past.

He’ll never read a book again.

 _Never_.

That thought brings on a wave of anguish that squeezes his throat closed. His face crumbles and he can feel that he’s seconds away from bursting into tears.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he forces himself to take slow, small breaths.

Calm down, Barnes.

 _Calm_. _Down_.

This isn’t something new. He’s just been an idiot and hadn’t realized it until now. This is his new reality and he’s going to have to accept it. Just like he’s having to accept that he’s going to spend the rest of his life playing games and doing art projects while Steve works.

He can be upset about it, but only if he’s upset internally. He can’t let Steve know any of this. He knows Steve is working as hard as he can to make Bucky’s life as good as it can be.

It was Bucky who was the idiot who jumped at doing the surgery rather than waiting for Steve to come up with a better solution. This is the price he has to pay, and he’s going to pay it.

With a smile on his face.

He pulls his hand off the book, focuses on getting his breathing even and calm, and then he resumes his search for the can of coke. By the time he finds it and turns around, he’s got a smile back on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll continue including braille text in future chapters. I’ll be translating what the text says in the story, but if you’d like to try translating it on your own, I recommend bookmarking the [cheat sheet](https://brailleworks.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/Braille-Alphabet-Red-Black700x700-700x700.jpg) for braille letters, numbers and punctuation marks. When the boys learn contracted braille, I’ll include a link to that cheat sheet too. For those of you who are curious, I’ll only be using UEB in this story. If you’d like to discuss that further (or talk about what UEB is), let me know in the comments.
> 
> All of the braille text in the story was created using [this translation website](https://www.branah.com/braille-translator) (the braille text can be copy/pasted). ‘Grade 1’ braille is old terminology for uncontracted braille, and ‘Grade 2’ means contracted braille.


	64. Chapter 64

When Steve had created his personal timeline of how far ahead he wants to get before he introduces braille to Bucky, he’d decided to make sure he gets to a point where he can move through the children’s books at a smooth, steady pace. Then he’ll have enough time to learn contracted braille while Bucky gets going with uncontracted braille.

Today he’s re-reading _‘Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day’_.

## ⠠⠊⠀⠺⠑⠝⠞⠀⠞⠕⠀⠎⠇⠑⠑⠏⠀⠺⠊⠞⠓⠀⠛⠥⠍⠀⠊⠝⠀⠍⠽⠀

## ⠍⠕⠥⠞⠓⠀⠁⠝⠙⠀⠝⠕⠺⠀⠞⠓⠑⠗⠑⠄⠎⠀⠛⠥⠍⠀⠊⠝⠀⠍⠽⠀

## ⠓⠁⠊⠗

“Capital i went to sleep with gum in my mouth and now there apostrophe s—‘there’s’—gum in my hair. Excellent job, Rogers, excellent,” he mumbles, very pleased with himself.

Once he gets through _‘Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day’_ , there’s just one step left before he gets to have an amazing conversation with Bucky!

Like with the tactile watch and the knitting loom, Steve wants to see what the experience will be like from Bucky’s perspective. So he opens up the _‘Alexander’_ book again, finds the first line of braille, closes his eyes and slides his finger along the dots.

…

It…feels like one of Bucky’s pinhole projects.

Where…where did his nice, neat cells go??

Maybe he’s moving his finger too quickly. He slows down and drags his finger along the dots again…

…

He can _feel_ the small bumps, but he has no idea what the hell they represent. They feel as random and nonsensical as the wall of dots had seemed on the first reading exercise in his first braille lesson.

But that’s okay—once he’d zoomed in closer and looked at each cell one at a time, everything had become clear.

But he can’t zoom in with his finger…!

He focuses on the dots at the very start of the line. He knows what they should be. The first cell should be a single dot 6 representing a capital letter. Next to it should be dots 2 and 4, making up the cell for letter I.

If he concentrates very, very hard, he can feel the three individual dots…but he can’t distinguish what dots they represent. And just because he knows (from reading it earlier) that the first dot is in its own cell, doesn’t mean he can tell that’s what it is.

The first dot could be a dot 3 and the second could be a dot 5! How the hell can he tell which dots belong together?!

He slides his finger along and his panic continues to mount. The dots blend together like they’re making up a piece of decorative paper. These dots aren’t actual words! It’s not something that anybody can _read_! This is crazy! This is absolutely crazy!

The dots are way too close together and the stupid cells have no borders! How is anybody supposed to know which dots belong in a cell together?!

“Shit. Buck, this is hard. Oh, my God.”

He opens his eyes and stares down at the page. As soon as he’s got his eyes helping him, he can easily see the invisible borders between the braille cells and he can tell what dot numbers are being represented based on where he knows empty spots for the other dots are.

But blind people can’t see any of that!!

How the hell is Bucky supposed to do this?!

Shit. Shit, shit, shit!

Well, okay, Rogers—calm down. Bucky doesn’t have to start with reading the books. Steve didn’t start with that either. He needs to start like Steve did, with Lesson 1 on the computer…

…

Then he realizes he’s being an idiot.

In fact, he’s been an idiot since the day he’d started learning braille.

He’s been learning braille using visual methods instead of tactile ones! Every single exercise on the computer—the reading and writing exercises, the trivia questions on Braille Bug, the speed tests—all of those are designed for sighted people!

Even his stupid cheat sheet is a flat sheet of paper!

Bucky can’t learn using any of that!

“God damn it!”

He slams the book on his desk. He’s been such an idiot. Such. An. _Idiot_.

He wants to cry. He’s gone about this whole business the wrong way. He doesn’t need to learn braille so _he_ can read braille on a computer screen—he needs to learn braille so he can teach _Bucky_ braille!

“You’re such a damn moron, Rogers!” He slams his fist on the desk.

Thankfully, Bucky’s washing dishes, so he doesn’t notice Steve’s outburst. Steve’s glad. Now that his panic is starting to calm and his anger is fading, he just feels embarrassed.

He knows by now what Bucky can and can’t see and what conditions he needs in order to learn new things. He’d taught Bucky two different communication methods using tactile methods. Teaching him braille needs to be done the same way.

No more computer. No more flat pieces of paper. No more using his eyes to read braille.

He needs to focus on learning how to read braille the way it was intended to be read:

With his fingers.

Without seeing invisible borders around the edges of braille cells.

Without using the color of the dots to make them easier to see.

“Time to start again,” he mumbles.

He doesn’t let himself dwell on his stupidity too long. He’s got work to do. Lots of work to do. The last week has been a complete waste.

The first thing he decides to do is check if the braille cells really are the same small size in all four of his books. Books with larger dots would be better to start with.

Since there’s very little braille in it, he decides to start with the Louis Braille book. He barely glances at it when he grabs it and runs his fingers over the braille dots beneath the ‘Six Dots’ title.

His fingers slide over the smooth, slippery cover effortless—without encountering anything bumpy.

Blinking, he looks down at the cover…and that’s when his disappointment with this book comes full circle.

The braille dots are _flat_.

He can’t believe this book came up during a search for ‘braille books’! There’s no actual braille in it! Anywhere! Printing flat braille dots on the page isn’t actually braille—and it’s an insult to Louis Braille to call them that. And to put that in a book about Louis himself!

It annoys him so much that he gets on the website, writes a scathing review and then does another search for ‘braille books’ on the site.

The results are shocking. The vast majority of the books are only _about_ braille, but they’re not written _in_ braille. Some contain flat braille dots printed on the page, but that’s as useless as not having any braille. None of them actually _say_ they’re written in braille, but they also don’t say they _aren’t_ written in braille. That’s just stupid and misleading.

Based on the many glowing reviews, it seems lots of sighted people love reading these books. They say they love experiencing ‘what it’s like to live as a blind person’. What’s even crazier is the many reviews on children ‘braille’ books that contain flat printed braille dots for aesthetic reasons and colorful illustrations, with parents raving about how much they enjoyed looking at the illustrations and the braille dots while they read to their visually impaired child.

Steve can feel his annoyance growing, so he decides stupid people aren’t worth his time and he needs to concentrate. But clearly—he needs to be much more careful when ordering ‘braille books’. He’s going to stick with sites which cater specifically to visually impaired people, not the general public.

He realizes using the Braille Bookstore is the only thing he’s done right so far, so he decides to see what braille-learning tools they have available.

The second he sees the wooden [Braille Box](http://www.braillebookstore.com/BrailleBox.1), he realizes that’s what he needs to start with. He can make it at home and he can make the pegs as large as he wants. Bucky can get accustomed to the orientation of the dots without depending on empty spots and cell boundaries, like Steve had.

The website’s next suggestion is to use very familiar looking [plastic magnetic letters](http://www.braillebookstore.com/Braille-Magnetic-Letters.2) and numbers, which have the corresponding braille cells embedded on them. Steve chuckles when he sees them. They haven’t had to use their own sets for anything recently except playing hangman and watching baseball.

In fact, it’s too bad their own sets don’t have braille already on them, like the ones on this website…

…

That makes Steve pause. He knows their plastic letters and numbers have little squares filled with tiny dots on them. He and Bucky have always ignored them. They’re the same colors as the rest of the plastic form, so Steve barely notices them, and Bucky is always busy touching the edges to recognize the shape of the letter or number…

…

No way.

…it’s not possible.

They can’t have been…

…all this time?!

Steve stumbles out of his chair, goes to the shelf and pulls down the box of plastic magnets. He pulls out the A…and there it is. Right in front of his nose.

There’s a little raised square on the A, representing the braille cell, and there’s a tiny bump in the upper left corner, representing Dot 1.

“Jesus Christ. They’re been under our nose this entire time! Oh, my God!” He bursts out laughing. Out of all the ironies in life!

Bucky’s going to have a good laugh about this!

Steve checks all the letters and numbers, and the braille is perfect on each one. The dots are just as small as they are in the book, so it’ll take practice to recognize them. But since they’re on the actual letters and numbers, Bucky can use them to practice on his own.

These are all great, but Steve wants Bucky to be able to do real exercises like he did on the computer. Ones where he has to deal with a series of braille cells without the English letters close by. Bucky can consult a cheat sheet if he needs to, but he should be able to do the exercise without any additional help.

That creates two problems: Bucky can’t do the exercises on the computer, and the cheat sheet is on a flat piece of paper.

Steve goes back to his desk, stares down at this cheat sheet and then smiles.

He’s been turning flat things into raised things for Bucky for months. He can do the same with his cheat sheet. Grabbing the clipboard with the foam pad from the shelf, he attaches a piece of sturdy cardstock paper to it, flips the cheat sheet over it and grabs one of his line carving tools.

Carefully, he lines up the tool with the dot 1 of the letter A and pushes against the paper and the cardstock paper beneath. He applies enough pressure so he knows Bucky will be able to feel it, but not enough to puncture the cardstock paper. Then he does tiny little pin pricks to represent the other five dots which aren’t being used. Bucky will be able to feel the entire cell and easily determine which dots are being used. Once the braille is done, he carefully traces the printed letter A above it, digging into the paper enough to raise it up.

Bucky comes wandering over while he’s finishing the numbers on the bottom of the sheet.

“Steve, you done work?”

“Yup.” Steve reaches up and taps Bucky’s hand that’s on his shoulder.

“You wanna go for a walk?”

Steve really wants to finish Bucky’s cheat sheet, but he knows he’s been very pre-occupied since he’s been learning braille and he really does want to go for a walk with Bucky.

He carefully slides the clipboard with the cheat sheet into his desk, making sure nothing is sitting on it that will crush it, then he goes to grab his jacket and shoes.

*             *             *

When Steve proudly tells Leon that he’s been learning braille, Leon looks thrilled.

“I bet Bucky is very happy that he’s going to be reading books again soon! From your stories, reading was very important to him, wasn’t it?”

Steve chuckles. “Yeah, it was. Is. Yeah. But I haven’t told Buck yet.”

Leon blinks and a small confused frown joins his happy smile. “So…Bucky has no idea you’re learning braille?”

“No.” Steve shrugs. “I need another week and then I’ll be ready.”

“You…think it’s a good decision to keep Bucky in the dark about it?”

“Obviously! I’ve already made a bunch of stupid mistakes. I’ve done that too many times already. Using Morse Code was dumb, not knowing how to guide properly was dumb—it caused Buck a lot of frustration and upset him. I ain’t doing that again. I’m testing things out, fixing things that don’t work, and once I’ve got it figured out, then I’ll tell Buck.”

“You don’t think you should at least discuss this with him?”

Steve snorts. “If I mention ‘reading’ to Buck, he’ll be all over it. And if we move too quick, we’re gonna end up screwing this up. This is better. I can go at my own pace, get things figured out, and once I’m ready, I’ll tell Buck.”

He doesn’t understand why Leon is being weird about this. He knows Bucky would be upset if Steve guides him down the wrong paths—like he’d done in the past—and he’d be upset with himself too.

This is better.

He’s been getting better at reading _‘Goodnight, Moon’_ properly (using his fingers instead of his eyes), but he still has some things that need to be worked on. Maybe in a week he’ll be ready to teach Bucky.

Besides, Bucky’s been very happy since they adopted Maggie, so waiting another week will be fine.

So when Leon keeps trying to convince him that he’s not going about things the right way, Steve gets annoyed and decides Leon’s silliness is taking up precious braille-practicing time, so he cuts the session short and heads back home.

*             *             *

Steve has to figure out how to make fun braille exercises for Bucky.

To do that, he needs to find a way to write out braille. He can make him riddles or trivia questions and he can make jumble puzzles.

For his first attempt, he prints out the braille reading exercises from his braille lessons and uses his clipboard and foam pad method to raise the braille writing.

That’s fine, but when Bucky is done reading the exercise, Steve will have to make him a whole new exercise, which isn’t very efficient. Plus, reading is only part of the lesson. Bucky will need to write too. Steve can use his clipboard method because he can see the black braille dots through the printed paper. He realizes he’s making a big mistake again.

“Stop thinking with your eyes, Rogers! Jesus Christ!” he grumbles. He can’t write braille visually. He needs to do it in a tactile way.

But when tries closing his eyes and poking the cardstock paper, it turns into a mess. He can’t keep his spacing between dots or his spacing between cells consistent. And he knows by now that spacing is critical for being able to read braille properly.

He stares at his paper for a while, thinking things over.

Finally, an idea occurs to him: if Bucky had re-usable braille cells, then Steve could re-arrange them to make as many exercises as he wants, and Bucky could use the cells to write out words.

Feeling excited again, Steve cuts the cardstock paper with his braille exercise into individual words, and then chops the words into individual cells. But when he tries reading the small cardstock paper cells, they keep sliding all over the place. Plus, it’s very hard to keep bits of paper organized. This isn’t going to work.

“Shit,” he mutters.

He realizes he needs to figure out how the hell blind people write. They can’t just poke randomly at a piece of paper, and even if blind people write by using template cells—which seems ridiculously limiting and can’t be true—then how do they prevent the template cells from moving around??

And if they glued the template cells down somewhere…they wouldn’t be reusable, which also seems inefficient and limiting.

Steve realizes he’s just thinking in circles and confusing himself. He consults his new favourite website and discovers the answer: a [slate and stylus](https://www.maxiaids.com/braille-writing-slates?pagenumber=1).

It…looks like a weird  cooking implement.

He has no idea how the hell somebody blind is supposed to use it. He can’t even begin to figure it out, and he can look at it with his eyes, but he finds lots of them on his favourite accessible-gadgets websites, so he figures this is something that must work. He orders a simple looking slate and a stylus that looks less intimidating than the others. While he’s on that website, he also notices they sell [braille paper](https://www.maxiaids.com/braille-paper), which turns out to be the thick, heavy paper which is needed to do tactile writing, but it’s a lot cheaper than the cardstock paper he’d been ordering.

“Well, better late than never,” he mumbles, putting that into his cart as well.

So apparently the slate and stylus will solve Bucky’s braille writing problem—he’s not clear on the details yet, but he’ll wait until it’s here to figure it out—but that still means that he has to make every single reading exercise for Bucky by hand.

On Braille Bug, the exercises had been fun because with a click of a button, he could get a new one, and there were hundreds in the program. Of course, if he has no other options, he’ll spend the rest of his life making hundreds of individual paper exercises for Bucky, but it seems so inefficient.

He’d already found a website that [translates English into braille](https://www.branah.com/braille-translator), which he can use to quickly type up lists of words or riddles and translate them into braille with a click of a button. After printing out the flat braille writing, he can transfer and raise the dots onto thick braille paper, but again—it’s inefficient. Doing the exercise once will be fun for Bucky, but he’ll have the answer to the riddles and trivia questions memorized within seconds. Steve won’t be able to re-use the words he’ll spend so much time making.

He needs to find re-usable braille cells.

He thinks about getting a second or even a third set of magnetic letters. That way he can create words and even sentences. But he doesn’t like that Bucky will have access to the actual shape of the letter. Even if he tries not to cheat, it would be difficult. Plus, the spacing between the cells would be completely off due to being on top of the plastic letters. He wants the exercises to resemble braille writing in books. That’s where they’re going, so that’s the condition he wants to create.

He feels he’s on the right track. Bucky needs sets of braille letters and numbers which he can re-arrange and touch to his heart’s content without the cells sliding around.

While he’s thinking, Steve paces around the apartment, making a wide berth around Bucky’s, who’s stroking his Lamb’s Ear plant and checking the leaves.

While he’s passing Bucky’s latest building block project, his eyes catch on the blocks. The dots on the bricks actually remind him of braille dots.

Wait a minute.

_Wait a minute!_

He crouches down and opens the box of compartments where Bucky keeps the different types of blocks sorted. He thinks he remembers seeing a—

There it is! A six dot block, made up of two sets of three dots. He fishes one out and stares at it, rubbing his thumb over the hard pegs.

It’s a braille cell.

It’s literally a braille cell!

His mind is racing. He could order boxes of two by three blocks and then use his wood-working equipment  to grind off the pegs he doesn’t need to create individual letters.

He makes a face, rubbing the pegs. The block is made from hard plastic and it wouldn’t be easy. The blocks might break and it would take forever to gently grind off the closely spaced pegs while keeping the ones he still wants. And he’d have to make at least two sets of letters so Bucky could make words and even sentences. In fact, three sets, and maybe four sets of vowels would be best.

But even as he’s thinking it, he knows it would take him forever. Probably a month or longer.

He doesn’t want to wait that long, but he knows he has to figure this out before he introduces Bucky to the magnetic letters. He’ll be done with those within two days and he’ll want to move onto more difficult things.

Surely Steve isn’t the first person who has noticed that these building blocks look exactly like braille cells. Surely somebody in the 200 years since Louis came up with his genius system has noticed the connection.

Since he has nothing to lose, he does a quick computer search.

…

And he finds them. He actually finds them.

They’re [Tack Tiles](http://www.tack-tiles.com/).

They’re exactly what Steve had envisioned. They’re even better because they include contracted braille brick pieces too so they’ll be able to use them when it’s time to learn contracted braille.

The Tack Tile set comes with hundreds of blocks, each block has the corresponding letter or number printed on the side—which Bucky won’t be able to read, so that will make it impossible for him to cheat—and they come with flat boards which function exactly the way Bucky’s building block boards do. Words and sentences can be spelled out, removed and re-arranged. If a mistake is made, the brick can just be removed. The bricks are larger than the cells in Steve’s books, but the dots are evenly spaced. It’ll be a great transition between the plastic magnetic letters to _‘Goodnight, Moon’_.

It’s perfect!

Steve has a mini heart attack when he sees how much the set costs, but he doesn’t hesitate before placing the order. He knows this is what they need. This is the last piece of the puzzle.

“Buck, we’re gonna do this. I know we are. We’re really moving now.”

*             *             *

The Tack Tiles arrive within a week, which pushes back Steve’s timeline a bit, but that’s okay. The tiles are fantastic and they’ll be perfect.

The slate and stylus have arrived too, but now that the tiles are here, Steve isn’t feeling pressured to write his own braille and Bucky won’t be writing any braille for a while, so he decides to put the weird cooking-implement-resembling thing in a drawer for the time being. They’ll deal with that later.

Right now, it’s time to introduce braille to Bucky!

“Here we go, Barnes. Time to get your nose back into a book!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, we’ll finally introduce braille to Bucky!
> 
> In case the price tag of the Tack Tiles make you pass out, [here](http://www.64ouncegames.com/ShopCart/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=68&products_id=246) are some braille blocks which are much cheaper. This link leads to the braille-letters package, but they also sell braille-numbers and contractions. These blocks work by being snapped together, so no board is needed. But the board will actually give the boys a lot more freedom, so that's why I'm staying with Tack Tiles in the story.


	65. Chapter 65

“Buck, can we talk about something?”

“Right now? I thought we were gonna finish watching Season 2 of—”

Steve rubs his hand frantically. “I’ve got something better. Much better.”

“Better? I don’t know how you think you can do better than—”

“Jesus, Barnes, listen to me and forget about the show for a second. We can finish Season 2 later.”

Bucky sighs and relaxes against the couch. “Alright, go ahead and talk.”

Steve asks him if he remembers what braille is. He’s so excited that he’s vibrating, but he forces himself to stay calm. It might take Bucky a little while to understand what he’s talking about.

“Huh? Bra eel? What the hell is a bra eel? Doesn’t sound like something pleasant. Did you forget how to spell Brazil? And yes, thank you—I remember what Brazil is. Jerk. Just cause I didn’t stay in school very long don’t mean I’m an idiot, and you know it.”

“No, Buck. Jesus.” He spells out ‘B-R-A-I-L-L-E’ very slowly.

He can tell Bucky’s concentrating on following the letters carefully. When Steve is done spelling, Bucky’s frowning and his lips are moving, mouthing the letters to himself, trying to string them together in his head in a way that makes sense.

“Bra isle?”

“No, just one word, Buck. One word.”

“Bra-isle? Br—Bral? No, br—braille. Braille. Wait! Braille? Braille!”

Steve happily taps, taps, taps his hand.

Bucky is still frowning. “Braille? Ain’t that how blind people read?”

“Yeah, Buck.”

Steve is expecting Bucky to burst into happiness, so he’s shocked when Bucky just makes a face and shrugs. “Thanks, Steve. But I don’t wanna learn something complicated just so I can read the same two silly books over and over. I miss reading, but that ain’t gonna help. That’s gonna make it worse.”

Steve lets out an annoyed sound and rubs Bucky’s hand firmly. “They make lots of braille books these days, Buck! Lots!”

Bucky still doesn’t look impressed. “What’s lots? Five?” He lets out a snort.

“Try hundreds.”

Bucky freezes. His annoyed frown is replaced by surprise and then a look of interest. “Really…?”

Steve grins. Here we go. “Yeah.”

There’s a small smile growing on Bucky’s face. “ _Hundreds_ of books?”

“Yeah.”

“And I can read them by myself?”

“Yeah. Once you’ve learned braille, you can read them all by yourself. You can spend all day reading books for the rest of your life, if that’s what you want.”

The small smile is getting bigger. “Really? You better not be kidding about any of this, Rogers!”

Steve rolls his eyes and gives him a gentle shove. “I’d never kid about books with you. I know how much you miss reading.”

Bucky’s eyes are shimmering, and his smile is huge. “You weren’t kidding about the hundreds of books, right?”

Steve isn’t sure if the Braille Bookstore actually has hundreds of books, but if Bucky is getting to the end of that selection, Steve will figure out how to use the cooking-implement thing and manually turn any book he finds into a braille version.

If he spends the rest of his life manually turning books into braille versions so Bucky can spend the rest of his life reading books and feeling happy, it’ll be a life well spent.

“Hundreds of books, Buck. I promise.”

Bucky squeezes Steve’s hand very hard and swallows hard. “I can read again? Really read again?” His voice is very fragile.

“Yeah.”

A few tears sneak down Bucky’s cheeks and Steve reaches up and brushes them away. He pulls Bucky close and kisses his cheeks. Bucky takes a shaky breath.

It takes Bucky a few minutes to stop feeling overwhelmed. But true to form, once he’s gotten over his initial shock, he’s back to business. He pulls back from Steve, wipes his eyes, sniffs hard and gives his head a shake. “Okay. Let’s get going. Gimme a book. We’ll see what we’re dealing with.”

Steve laughs. This is exactly how he pictured this going. “Calm down, Buck. Reading braille ain’t that simple. It’s a whole new way of reading and you’ll have to practice first.”

“How the hell do you know? How hard can it be? There’s only 26 letters. I learned the manual alphabet in just a few days, didn’t I?”

“This is a lot more complicated than that was. We already had our own symbols for lots of things and we’ve slowly added to them. But we control how we talk to each other with fingerspelling, don’t we? We use words and symbols that we know we can understand. You can’t control how a book was printed. If there’s stuff in there that you don’t understand, you can just skip the page or tell the book to use other words. You gotta know the basics real well first.”

Bucky scoffs. “You’re just being dumb about it. Gimme a book, let me try.”

“Alright, fine.” Steve gets up, grabs the first book off the pile on his desk—which happens to be the book about Helen—and brings it back to the couch. It doesn’t matter that it’s the most difficult book out of the three on Steve’s desk. He knows none of the dots will make sense to Bucky right now anyway.

Bucky waves his hand through the air, finds the book and rips it out of Steve’s hand. Putting it on his lap, he flips it open and runs his hand over the dot-covered page.

Steve sits next to him and slings an arm around Bucky’s shoulder, waiting for his verdict. Bucky explores the entire page, probably trying to see if there are different kinds of dots to be found. He makes a displeased face when he realizes all the dots are exactly the same. Steve knows it means one of his theories about braille has just been eliminated. He gently presses his smile into Bucky’s left shoulder, watching his hand and his face.

Eventually Bucky’s exploring slows down and he finds the top left edge of the page, where the writing on the page begins. His frantically moving hand slows down and Steve is surprised to see Bucky lifting most his fingers off the page until just his index and middle fingers are on the page. He’s frowning with intense concentration as he rubs the pads of his fingers over the first few cells.

“This reminds me of my pinhole art, but there ain’t no pattern to the dots. And they’re tiny.”

Bucky’s eyes widen a bit and he starts to frown as his fingers rub more frantically over the dots. “This—this is tough. Rogers, I can’t tell what any of this is! How am I supposed to figure out what this says?!”

“Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay. Calm down,” Steve says, gently closing the book on Bucky’s lap and picks up his hand so he can spell. He squeezes Bucky’s hand and then starts to spell. “We’ll go slow, okay? We’ll take it one step at a time. We’ll start with the 26 letters and go from there.”

“Okay. Nice and slow.”

“Nice and slow, and I’ll know you’ll get it. I know you will.”

Bucky looks less anxious about it and he’s rubbing his hand over the smooth cover of the book, a small smile blooming on his face again. The cover is the only part of the book that has a big illustration on it, but the title is brailled on it.

Real braille, not ‘aesthetic braille’.

Steve is busy looking at the cover of the book, but when Bucky’s hand abruptly stops moving, Steve sees him tense and that’s when he notices his smile has frozen.

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“The dots on the cover, it’s braille, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And they’ve been on there for a while?”

Steve frowns. What a weird question. “What? They’ve been there since the people printed the book. I don’t know when they made it. You wanna know the date?”

Bucky’s got a very strange look on his face. He doesn’t reply for a few seconds, and just when Steve’s about to repeat his question, Bucky puts his ‘polite gentleman’ smile on his face and abruptly takes his hand off the book.

“No, that’s fine. Thank you. If you wanna watch Season 2 of the show now, we can do that. We can learn braille later.”

Steve blinks. What the hell? What the hell just happened?

Who the hell is this person and where did Bucky go?

Bucky was excited, a little anxious and happy about this braille idea…and now he’s putting on a fake smile and talking to Steve as if he’s Father O’Leary from church.

Steve is very confused. Something had happened in the last few seconds which had completely changed Bucky’s mood. “Buck, what’s wrong? I thought you were excited about learning braille?”

The ‘polite gentleman’ smile wavers just slightly, but it stays put. “Oh, I am. You’ve got a plan ready?”

“Of course I do.”

Bucky blinks rapidly a few times. “Oh. That’s great. Okay. Let’s get going then.”

“Why are you being weird all of a sudden?”

“I ain’t being weird. I’m excited to learn braille.”

Steve can practically hear the fake enthusiasm dripping from the words.

He’s torn. He knows when Bucky gets like this, he thinks he’s doing a very good job at fooling everyone into thinking he’s fine and he’ll just keep denying, denying, denying until he’s ready to talk about things. There’s no use continuing to push him when he’s like this. Steve knows he’s the same way, but he doesn’t become a fake-polite person, he just becomes a grumpy jerk. But the end result is the same.

He knows Bucky will eventually tell him what’s bothering him, or Steve will have to push harder. But this whole thing is rapidly taking a downturn and Steve really wants to get Bucky back into the happy frame of mind from earlier. Maybe if they focus on braille, Bucky will get over this weird mood he’s in.

Steve gets the wooden braille box he’d made, along with the familiar whiteboard and their set of plastic magnetic letters. He puts everything on Bucky’s lap and brings his hand to the empty braille box.

“Okay, so the dots you felt are always in clusters, which are braille cells. Each one can have up to six dots. This box is a really big braille cell so you can feel exactly what it looks like. You feel these pegs? Each one is a dot. We’ll go through the alphabet and I’ll teach you what each letter looks like.”

Bucky’s smile is tense and frozen on his face. “Okay. Did you make the box? It feels like something you made.”

“I—Yeah. I made the pegs too.”

“It’s real nice, Steve. Thank you.”

Steve stares at him. He knows the words were sincere but Steve just _knows_ Bucky’s still off.

He spells out a quick ‘thanks’ on Bucky’s palm, then he wedges a peg into the dot 1 position in the box and fishes the plastic A out of the container and puts it on the whiteboard.

Taking Bucky’s hand, he taps Bucky’s thumb. “This is ‘A’, Buck.” He brings his hand to the braille box and helps him feel the position of the peg, along with the other empty holes. Then he lets him feel the plastic A, hoping Bucky will feel the small braille cell on the plastic letter.

Bucky’s smile is still bland and polite. “Okay, that’s A. I got it.”

Steve stares at him hopefully. “Did you feel the braille cell on the plastic letter?”

“I know it’s an A, Steve. You told me.”

“No.” Steve rubs Bucky’s finger over the little braille cell stamped on the letter A. He grins, waiting for Bucky to feel it and put it together. “You feel it? There’s a braille cell on there too! We’ve been using these letters forever! Ain’t that something?”

Bucky’s smile doesn’t change. “Oh. Neat. I feel the dot. Okay, that dot is letter A. I got it. You can move to ‘B’, if you want.”

What. The. Hell?!

Steve gives Bucky’s hand a hard jostle. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m fine. If you don’t wanna keep doing braille, we don’t have to.”

“You ain’t fine. You’re acting weird and you think I can’t tell.”

“I’m fine. I’m excited about learning braille. Let’s do B.”

All of Steve’s earlier excitement has vanished. This is not going the way Steve thought it would.

At all.

*             *             *

Two days later, Bucky’s mood hasn’t gotten any worse, but it hasn’t gotten any better either. They’ve moved through the alphabet and then the numbers and punctuation. Steve wants Bucky to have the cell configurations memorized before they move to the Tack Tiles, but Bucky isn’t focused and he’s putting minimal effort into learning. He keeps confusing even the simplest cell configurations, despite Steve prodding him to practice multiple times a day.

It’s not at all how Steve thought teaching Bucky braille would be like.

They’re sitting on the floor next to each other, the braille box, whiteboard and plastic letters spread out around them. Steve puts pegs into dots 1, 3, 4 and 5 in the box and he waits for Bucky to identify it as ‘N’. Bucky listlessly touches the pegs, his mind clearly not on the task at hand.

“C.”

Steve rubs Bucky’s hand. Not even close.

“J.”

Rub.

“A.”

Steve sighs. “You know that’s not an ‘A’, Buck. If you wanna stop, we’ll stop.”

“We can stop if you wanna stop.”

“That ain’t what I said! Come on—tell me what’s wrong. This ain’t like you.”

Bucky is twisting the pegs in the box. “I’m just a little tired. I’ll get it eventually.”

“You wanna spell out words with the plastic letters and read the braille on ‘em? You think that’ll go better?”

“Whatever you want.”

“Or you wanna make your own cells? You want me to get the muffin tin? I can put on the blindfold and identify the cells you make.”

When Steve had realized that Bucky had a hard time putting the wooden pegs into the correct holes, he’d made six tin foil balls and used a six-spot muffin tin as a braille cell. Steve thought giving Bucky the chance to create his own cells instead of always guessing the ones Steve made would make him more enthusiastic about this, but so far it hasn’t changed Bucky’s mood.

Then he’d tried turning into a game, taking turns identifying cells that the other person made. He thought keeping track of their correct guesses would fire up Bucky’s competitive spirit, but that hasn’t worked either.

Steve had stopped keeping track of the score when he’d reached 15 correct cells and Bucky had only gotten two right.

Bucky shrugs in response to Steve’s question. “We can do the muffin tin is that’s what you want.”

Okay, that’s it. Steve pushes the braille box away and gives Bucky’s hand a shake. “We can’t fix this if you don’t tell me what’s wrong. What happened to being excited about learning braille? You turned off like a match that’s been snuffed out.”

Bucky clenches his jaw and his apathy starts to turn into irritation. “So I don’t got the right to decide when to be excited about something? You gonna decide what I get to feel now too?”

Steve blinks. “What?”

Bucky rips his hand out of Steve’s grasp. “You wanna know what’s bothering me? It’s bothering me that you’ve been learning braille behind my back for two weeks—maybe even longer—but there ain’t nothing I can do about it cause it’s already done, so I don’t see the point of arguing about it!”

Steve grabs Bucky’s hand back so he can spell. “How the hell do you know how long I’ve been learning braille? Anyway, what does it m—”

Ripping his hand out of Steve’s grasp again, Bucky smacks it on the carpet, sending some of the plastic letters flying. “I found the stupid book! I found it on your desk two weeks ago and it was the first time I’d touched a book since I lost my sight and you have no idea how much that hurt! I thought I’d never be able to read again and I was upset, and you were just leaving books lying around—but it turns out that I _can_ read that book! I just didn’t know that two weeks ago because you didn’t tell me!”

Steve is very confused. He gently picks up Bucky’s hand so he can keep spelling. “Even if I _had_ told you two weeks ago, you wouldn’t have been able to pick up the book and read it. You need to actually learn the c—”

“You _lied_ to me!”

Now Steve’s starting to get mad. He’s never lied to Bucky about learning braille. Never. “No, I didn’t!”

“Okay, maybe you didn’t lie, but you kept this a secret.”

“Yeah, I did that for you! How many times did we jump into something and have it blow up in our faces cause we weren’t prepared, huh? I didn’t wanna turn this into a frustrating mess. And it’s a good thing I didn’t tell you right away, cause I made a lot of stupid mistakes. I know how important this is for you so I wanted things to be perfect. I didn’t keep it a secret cause I was being a jerk.”

“But you _were_ being a jerk!”

“What?! How? Everything I’ve done with this braille business has been for you, not for me!”

Bucky rips his hand out of Steve’s grasp again. “You’re treating me like a little kid and I’m sick of it! I ain’t a little kid!”

This whole thing is spinning out of control. He grabs Bucky’s hand back. “I never said you were! When the hell did I say you were a little kid?”

“You’re making decisions without including me! You’re deliberately keeping me in the dark about things!”

“Yeah—to protect you! I know how important reading is to you, Buck. I didn’t wanna teach you the wrong way and end up frustrating you!”

“That’s _exactly_ how you treat a kid! You think I can’t handle disappointment? Or frustration? I may be deaf, blind and a cripple, but I ain’t a helpless child!”

Steve suddenly remembers his earlier session with Leon when they’d discussed Steve’s solo braille learning.

_“You…think it’s a good decision to keep Bucky in the dark about it?”_

_“You don’t think you should at least discuss this with him?”_

But Bucky isn’t done. “I appreciate that you were trying to protect me, but if I have to choose between you pushing me along in front of you in a little carriage or stumbling along next to you, I’d rather be walking with you! Even if we make mistakes!”

“I just thought—”

“No, you didn’t think! That’s the fucking problem! You just decided to make decisions for me without even asking me if that’s what I want! Maybe I would have decided that I was happier letting you figure things out first—but you didn’t even talk to me about it!”

Bucky’s so angry, he’s shaking. “I’ve never disrespected you like that! _Never_! The only time I’ve ever made decisions for you without asking you is when you were unconscious. But the rest of the time, I’d always ask! If somebody was making fun of you, and me telling them to knock it off didn’t make them quit, I wouldn’t say: ‘Come on, Steve, let’s go’, I’d ask you if you wanted to leave! If you were having trouble carrying your school bag or something else, I wouldn’t just grab it from you, would I? I’d always ask if you wanted me to help you. I never took away your right to make decisions for yourself!”

“Buck, don’t be ridiculous, you really think you could have handled making decisions about every little thing when you first came home? You were too scared to even put one foot in front of the other—and you think you would have been able to focus on choosing what cane tip to use?”

Bucky clenches his jaw. “Fuck you! Maybe I could have! But even if I couldn’t focus back then, I ain’t that helpless now! And you gotta stop disrespecting me and treating me like a little kid or this is gonna turn ugly.”

Now Steve’s starting to get upset too. “I ain’t the bad guy here, Buck! I’ve always put you first! Always! Everything I’ve done since you came home from the hospital has been for you!”

This whole thing spinning further out of control and Steve just knows that one of them will end up saying something that they’ll regret.

He’s about to tell Bucky that he needs to step outside for a second and calm down, but Bucky must sense that he’s getting upset from the way he’s spelling, because he squeezes Steve’s hand and makes a visible effort to calm down.

“I know,” he says, no longer yelling. He swallows hard and takes a few deep breaths. “I _know_ , Steve. But I don’t need you putting me first all the time. I need you to treat me like an equal. I know the rest of the world don’t see me as an equal no more, and I can live with that. But I can’t live with you not treating me like an equal.”

Steve struggles to calm down too. “I didn’t mean to disrespect you or hurt you. That’s the last thing I wanted to do.” He feels his throat getting tight. This is such a nightmare!

Bucky shuffles closer to him, pushing the braille box and whiteboard out of the way and finds his face so he can press his forehead against Steve’s. “I know, but you didn’t. Please promise me you ain’t gonna keep things from me no more. If something’s too complicated for me to deal with, I promise, I’ll tell you. But please don’t make decisions for me without at least telling me about them first, okay? I deserve that much respect, don’t I?”

Jesus. Steve grabs the back of Bucky’s neck and squeezes hard, spelling words out on Bucky’s hand, which is propped on his thigh. “Of course you do! Of _course_ you do! And I’m so sorry. Forgive me?”

“Obviously. But don’t do this no more, Rogers. Okay? Please. It ain’t—it ain’t—that’s a quick way for things to fall apart. No more. For both our sakes.”

“I promise,” Steve whispers, gently taking Bucky’s chin and kissing him. “I promise, I promise, I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there are any readers out here who are culturally Deaf/Deafblind ASL signers and would like to help me with a specific aspect of the story, I'd love some assistance. I need to come up with name signs for both of the boys, but I'm not qualified to create those names myself. If you're willing to help (and you meet the criteria and have ideas for name signs), please use my email in my profile to contact me. I would really appreciate it!


	66. Chapter 66

Making the promise to tell Bucky about things is easy.

Actually keeping it is a different matter.

At first Steve thought he was in the clear and that the braille issue was the only recent and still relevant thing that he’s been keeping from Bucky. It isn’t until they’re out for a walk the next day that Steve realizes he’s still not in the clear.

As they’re walking down the sidewalk, a mother leading a young girl by the hand is walking towards them. Steve can see the girl pointing at Bucky’s cane before they’re within hearing distance. He gets ready to stop Bucky and ask him if he wants to let the little girl touch his cane if she asks nicely—an almost daily occurrence—but as they get closer to each other, the mother whips out her phone and aims it at Steve and Bucky, while waving her daughter forward.

“Okay, go stand right by the blind man and I’ll take the picture. Make sure you smile nice!”

The girl comes running towards Steve and Bucky. “And then I wanna post it to my Facebook!”

“Of course, sweetie!”

Steve swallows against the annoyance that crawls up his throat. Damn. It’s gonna be one of those days. This is sadly a common occurrence, but it never gets any less annoying.

He holds up his right arm and firmly holds it out, projecting a ‘stop’ signal to the advancing girl. “Don’t touch him, please. Move over so we can pass by.”

The girl looks upset and the mother frowns. “She just wants to take a picture with the blind man! She’s a little girl! What’s wrong with you?”

“You didn’t ask, and he’s not a zoo exhibit. Don’t touch either of us.”

Steve gently steers Bucky around the girl and her glaring mother, carefully keeping his body language relaxed so Bucky doesn’t realize what’s happening.

He hears the mother yelling after him that he’s an idiot and the girl starts wailing that she wanted to have a ‘cool picture with the blind man’. Then the mother tells her she’ll take her to the park and they’ll get lots of better pictures to put on her Facebook.

Jesus. He hates dealing with those types of people.

When they’re on the train, Bucky is busy with one of his puzzle games so Steve plays games on his phone. As often happens, despite the horrendous noise of the train rattling and screeching along the century old tracks, he can still easily hear conversations going on around him.

Two teenagers had gotten on at the last stop and sat down a few seats away from them. When Bucky’s sitting down and his cane is put away, most people don’t realize he’s disabled until he asks a seemingly weird question that attracts attention and makes people notice his cane, which is exactly what happens this time.

“Did the doors close, Steve?”

He taps Bucky’s hand.

As usual, the question attracts the attention of the teenagers, who start pointing and loudly talking about Bucky and his cane. Their subsequent discussion makes it clear that it’s really one of those days.

“—would be totally weird and creepy.”

A giggle. “Oh, my God, Kelly! Handicapped people don’t have sex! You’re so dumb.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s like, illegal or whatever. And who would have sex with them anyway? They’re gross.”

That’s when Steve turns to Bucky and tells him he’s bored and wants to chat about something. He doesn’t care what the topic is, but he knows that Bucky will hopefully drown out the stupid words of other people that his stupid too-good hearing isn’t letting him ignore.

But that’s not the end of it. It’s really one of the bad days. On the good days, people keep their rude comments and questions out of Steve’s hearing range and the people who ask nice questions and who are polite are a joy to deal with and Bucky enjoys interacting with them.

Today is not one of the good days. Just to make sure that Steve completely understands that today isn’t a good day, the day throws one last reminder at them before they get home.

They’re waiting at a crosswalk after coming out of the train station and Bucky’s hand is on the pedestrian signal, waiting for it to vibrate

“Steve, what kind of curb is it again? I don’t remember.”

While Steve writes ‘C’ on the back of Bucky’s hand, his attention is pulled to two men in their early twenties who are waiting in the crowd with them. The men’s attention must have been caught by Bucky’s seemingly strange question.

One of them jabs the other with his elbow and then starts moving his hand around as if he’s holding a cane, puts a dopey look on his face, and repeats the question Bucky had asked, using a weird tone of voice. His buddy laughs, pulls out his phone and says “That’s hilarious, dude! Oh, my God, I wanna get it on video. And don’t forget the retard voice—that’s the best part!”.

As soon as Steve realizes what they’re doing, he takes his eyes off them and ignores them, just like he always ignores most of these wonderful examples of humanity who share the planet with him and Bucky. Ignoring things like that is a skill he’s spent his whole life perfecting.

It doesn’t hit him until he’s brushing his teeth that night that he’d managed to break his promise to Bucky multiple times within 12 hours of making it.

Shit.

He’s about to go to Bucky right away and confess…but then he pauses. Is it really wrong not telling Bucky about cruel things people say and do when they see him in public? What good would it do to tell Bucky such things? Besides—it would be completely unpractical. He’d have to stop Bucky, take his cane out of his hand and tell him what happened. Or if he tells him when they’re sitting down somewhere, Bucky will know he’s stuck with those rude idiots until either of them move away.

Not to mention…if Bucky knows what people are saying about him, he might get self-conscious when he’s out in public. There’s nothing Bucky can do about using his cane, but if he knew he attracts more attention when he speaks, he might decide to stop voicing.

And that’s not something Steve can deal with.

At all.

A part of him knows he needs to be honest with Bucky and at least ask him whether he wants to know what people are saying…but he starts feeling panicked as soon as he thinks about Bucky’s verbalizing coming up.

He decides to ask Leon for his opinion.

*             *             *

The first thing Steve forces himself to say when he sees Leon is telling the man he was right about the braille situation. “I was an idiot, you tried to make me see I was being an idiot and I refused to listen.”

Thankfully, Leon is kind and wonderful and doesn’t even crack a small satisfied smile. “You weren’t being an idiot. Your heart was in the right place, but your thinking wasn’t. Bucky’s disabilities make him very vulnerable, and your protective instincts have become heightened because of that. That’s good, but you need to find a new balance now that Bucky’s becoming more independent.”

Steve makes an agreeable noise. He doesn’t really understand how to do any of that, but his head is too full of being upset with himself to focus properly.

Leon must see that he’s not fully paying attention, because he tries to change topics. “So you say Bucky forgave you and he’s willing to give learning braille a try?”

“Yeah. He’s still upset so braille ain’t going as well as I thought it would, but it’ll get better. I hope. Anyway, I’m letting him decide when he wants to practice. I ain’t gonna push him.”

“Okay, those are all good things, but I can tell you’re still upset. Being upset with yourself doesn’t help Bucky, you know that. Are you still upset over how you handled the braille situation, or is there something else?”

“I—you know I don’t tell Buck everything that goes on. I mean, when we’re out in public.”

“Yes, you’ve told me.”

“I—I’m just—I still think I’m right to do some of that.”

“Why do you think that?” Leon’s voice is slow and careful. Steve knows he’s trying to get more information from him.

“Well—it just ain’t practical to tell him everything. When we’re walking, Buck’s hand is on his cane. It’s enough of a distractions when I have to tell him about obstacles and stairs and things. I ain’t gonna stop him every two seconds when somebody’s staring at his cane and tell him they’re staring.”

“Of course not. That’s perfectly understandable. But have you told Bucky that these things are happening? I mean—happening in general. Not specific instances.”

“He knows people stare at him. And if somebody says something nice, then I tell him what they said as soon as I can safely talk to him. And if people ask nice and polite questions about his disabilities then I tell Buck and he answers the questions.”

Leon purses his lips. “I know what you’re getting at, Steven Rogers. And I know you know that I know. And you also know the answer to the question you’re trying not ask me, because you already know the answer.”

Steve shifts in his seat. Damn this man. He narrows his eyes at him. “If you’re so smart, then tell me what I’m getting at.”

Leon smiles. “You just told me you tell Bucky if people say _nice_ things. I know you don’t tell him when people say rude things or make silly remarks. I know people must make a lot of them. They don’t understand the full scope of Bucky’s disabilities, plus, the two of you being men in a romantic relationship adds more fuel to the fire.”

“Buck don’t need to know those things.”

“He doesn’t need to know the specific cruel things that people say, no. But you know there’s a difference between him not wanting to know what’s being said, versus not even knowing that such things are being said. You made the decision to keep these things from him, just like you made the decision to keep braille from him. And that’s what been bothering you ever since Bucky forced you to confront this issue.”

Steve doesn’t answer. He hates that he’s back to feeling like a mean bully who’s been disrespecting Bucky. All he’s ever wanted to do was protect Bucky. Keep him safe. Keep him happy.

And he hates that he’s been unintentionally disrespecting him.

Leon is giving him a small smile. “What are you thinking about?”

“I hate that I’ve been disrespecting him without meaning to.”

“You’re not the first person to be in this situation, Steve, nor the last. Yes, you’ve been violating Bucky’s rights and his autonomy, but you should look at the positive aspects: your intentions were pure, and now that you realized what a problem this is, you’re actively trying to fix it. If you didn’t care about fixing it, you wouldn’t be here right now and you wouldn’t feel as guilty about this as you do.”

“I just wanna make things easier for him. He has to work so much harder than other people to do simple things and I don’t wanna pile on a bunch of negative things and make him feel self-conscious or bad about himself. Those idiots don’t deserve to have that power over him. I don’t—I don’t wanna be part of that.”

“Of course, you don’t. And nobody would question that you made the decision to restrict Bucky’s knowledge of his surroundings when he first came home. When he needed to keep his focus on getting his bearings and just putting one foot in front of the other, distracting him by telling him unnecessary information about his surroundings would have had a negative impact on his progress. But Bucky isn’t at that stage anymore. You keeping this information from him now is preventing him from moving forward with his independence.”

“I just—I don’t wanna upset him.”

“Of course you don’t. But that’s not a valid argument against being honest with him. You are Bucky’s eyes and ears and he’s a grown man. You can’t pick and choose what you think Bucky should have to hear or see. You know that’s not your right. Your role as Bucky’s caregiver is immensely complex, and this is why many people hire professionals to help their loved ones. It’s a huge responsibility to deal with all of it.”

Steve is chewing on his lip. He’s getting a queasy feeling in his stomach and he doesn’t like it. This whole thing is moving in a direction he doesn’t like.

At all.

Telling Bucky about the mean things people say will make Bucky want to know what they say. He won’t accept vague answers, nor would it be right for Steve to keep his answers vague. He’ll have tell Bucky about the awful things people say, and Bucky might decide to minimize the negative attention he attracts by no longer voicing.

He can’t…he can’t take this risk. But he can’t continue violating Bucky’s autonomy like this either. There has to be a nice, valid reason why Steve can continue keeping things from him and not be a jerk because of it. “I don’t wanna upset him. He’s a lot more sensitive than me about what people say.”

“If he doesn’t like knowing about it, then he can ask you to continue keeping him the dark about these things. But not even making him aware that these things are happening isn’t right, and you know it.”

“So…so what kind of information should I tell him?”

Leon gives him a long look. “You know the answer to that.” The old man narrows his eyes at him. “You’re worried about something in particular, I can tell. You’re dancing around it. What is it?”

Steve realizes his heart is pounding and he’s starting to feel panic. True, intense, gut-clenching panic. “He—I can’t—what if—what if he stops talking?”

Leon frowns, confused. “I don’t follow. Why would Bucky stop talking?”

“If—if he knew that people make fun of the questions he asks or how loud he sometimes is, he’ll be embarrassed.”

“He isn’t aware of his volume control issues?”

“Well, yes, he is, but he forgets all the time. Anyway, it ain’t how loud he talks that’s the main problem. He asks a lot of questions that might seem weird to other people. They don’t know he’s deaf so they don’t know how he gets information about things. And when he’s standing still or sitting, people don’t stare at him too much, but when he asks certain questions or talks to me about certain things, that attracts a lot of attention. I—I know he’d be embarrassed and he’d be too self-conscious to keep talking in public. What if—” Steve’s heart clenches and he feels like he’s about to burst into tears. “What if he decides to stop verbalizing? Completely?”

Leon reaches out and gently squeezes his knee. “You know the answer to that,” he says softly.

Fear is making Steve’s hands shake. He can’t. He can’t. He just _can’t_. He knows it’s Bucky’s right to choose, and he knows he’d have to accept whatever choice he makes—but he just…he doesn’t want to.

“Steve, listen to me. Take deep breaths and calm down. You and Bucky would be fine if he stopped verbalizing. He’d use tactile spelling to communicate with you, just like you do to communicate with him. I admit, I’m astounded at the thought that Bucky would do alright living as a deaf, blind and mute individual—but that’s a testament to how amazing the two of you are. But all of that is beside the point. You’re putting the cart before the horse. You’re panicking about something that might never happen.”

Steve draws in a few shaky breaths and stares at Leon’s hand on his knee. “Leon, I can’t. I can’t do it. I need…”

Just the _idea_ of never hearing Bucky speak again…

He knows how horrendously selfish that is—Bucky has to live with never hearing Steve’s voice again and Steve knows how difficult that is for him—but he can’t help it.

Leon gives his knee a firm squeeze. “Just because you should be more honest with Bucky about what’s going on around him doesn’t mean you can’t tell him when certain things are important to you. You can tell him about what people say and of course, the decision to continue being verbal will be Bucky’s and Bucky’s alone, but you should tell him how important it is to you that he continue verbalizing.”

“But I haven’t been treating him right with this whole thing. I don’t got any right pushing him one way or another.”

“There’s a difference between being manipulative versus explaining that something is very important to you. Put all your cards on the table. Tell him how people react to hearing him speak in public and explain to him that you understand it’s his choice to continue verbalizing or not, but it would mean the world to you if he continues to voice.”

That sounds reasonable.

He feels like he’s going to throw up.

*             *             *

Bucky’s playing with Maggie when he feels the motion sensor vibrate. Steve’s home.

“Hey, Stevie.”

The couch dips as Steve sits down, and Bucky finds his wrist to feel his bracelet and he explores Steve’s arm to figure out how he’s feeling. He can tell Steve’s tense but he’s not angry-tense, he’s scared-tense.

“What’s wrong? What happened?”

Steve takes his hand and starts spelling rapidly. He tells him he’s so very, very sorry because he’s been a jerk about so many things and he’s been disresp—

And that’s way too much information at once. Bucky closes his fingers over Steve’s trembling fingers which have been flying over his palm.

“Steve, stop, calm down. Is this about the braille thing? I told you—we’re moving past that. You’ve apologized and you promised you wouldn’t do something like that again, so we’re fine.”

Unless…unless the braille thing isn’t the only thing Steve has been keeping from him…

“Have been keeping other things from me? Is that what this is about?”

There’s a very hesitant tap.

Bucky sighs internally. He feels a wave of frustration rush over him, but he carefully keeps his face blank. He doesn’t want this to turn into another fight. Steve is already tense and upset and if Bucky gets angry, they’ll get into another fight.

And that won’t solve anything.

“Okay, tell me what you’ve been keeping from me. And I wanna put all our cards on the table, Rogers. Tell me about everything. I don’t care if we gotta sit here til tomorrow.”

Steve tells him he hasn’t been telling him about mean things people have been saying about him when they’re out in public.

Bucky frowns. “What? Mean things? What kind of things are people saying? Are they making fun of my missing arm?”

Rub, rub.

“They make fun of the cane?”

Rub, rub.

“Then what? My arm and the cane are the only weird things people can see when I’m walking around.”

Steve’s fingers are frozen, sitting on his palm. It’s clear he doesn’t want to talk about this.

“Come on, Rogers. I wanna know and I got the right to know, don’t I?”

Steve’s fingers tense and they’re shaking.

“Hey. Hey, it’s okay.” Bucky follows Steve’s arm up to his face. Steve’s jaw is clenched, he’s trembling and breathing way too fast. “Come here. Calm down.”

His earlier irritation with Steve has calmed. He’s still annoyed that the punk hasn’t told him that people are talking about him—he used to always ask Steve if he wanted to know what so-and-so said about him if the person was deliberately speaking quietly enough so Steve couldn’t hear it, and he left the choice with Steve. It would be nice if the jerk had given him the same choice—but he knows Steve’s heart was in the right place.

Steve knows first-hand how cruel people’s words can be and Bucky acknowledges he’s a bit more sensitive about these things than Steve. He’s still not used to being a person who gets made fun of. He knows Steve’s heart was in the right place, and at least he’s being honest about it now.

Bucky transfers Maggie to her pillow on his other side and pulls Steve against his chest, kisses his temple and rubs his back. “I don’t know why you’re so worked up over other people being dumb. You’ve never cared about what people think. It’s me who can’t help but care about those things.”

That must have been the wrong thing to say, because Steve wraps his arms tightly around Bucky and squeezes him tightly. His lips are against Bucky’s collar bone and he’s frantically saying things, muttering words into Bucky’s skin that he can’t hear.

“Stevie, calm down. It’s okay. I’m sorry if I’m saying things that are making it worse, but you ain’t giving me enough to work with. I’ll stay quiet until you’re ready to talk, okay?”

So he keeps his mouth shut, rubs Steve’s back and gently rocks them back and forth.

Eventually, Steve calms down enough to pick up Bucky’s hand and keep talking. He explains that Bucky sometimes talks too loud and some of the questions he asks sound weird because they don’t make sense to other people, but the bigger issue is that whenever he speaks, he attracts a lot more attention to himself.

Everybody stares while he’s walking somewhere, but if Bucky’s moving along, the person’s stares are only brief. But if they’re sitting on the subway or in a store or any other public place where Bucky may not be using his cane, few people stare at him until he starts talking and attracts attention. Once people are staring, then they notice his cane, his arm and other things and that makes them keep staring. And that’s usually when the rude, silly questions start coming. Some questions are nice and Steve tells Bucky about those ones, but a lot of them are just rude and mean.

Bucky grimaces. Well, that’s embarrassing. He hates that he’s been embarrassing himself but also Steve for months. “I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you say anything earlier? Jesus! I can’t believe I’ve been embarrassing both of us for months.”

Well, there’s only one solution. “Okay, so I’ll just stop talking out-loud when we’re out in public. It won’t be that hard. We’re always together anyway so I can switch to doing non-verbal spelling all the time. Who knows—maybe we’ll end up liking the new system better and I’ll stop talking when we’re at home too, although we’ll have to come up with—”

He’s distracted from his out-loud thinking by Steve jerking back from him and frantically rubbing the back of his hand.

“It’s fine, I promise. I don’t mind not using my voice anymore when we’re out in public. I—”

The back of his hand is being frantically rubbed again.

“You—Steve, what are you trying to say?”

Steve’s fingers are frantically spelling random letters on his palm. None of it makes sense, but Bucky can tell he’s frantic and he can guess what he’s trying to say.

He curls his hand over Steve’s anxious fingers. “Hush, Stevie, stop. Do you want me to keep talking when we’re in public? Even though it attracts attention? Is that what’s wrong?”

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.

“Okay, I wanna make sure we’re both clear on this. You want me to talk all the time, or just at home?”

Steve spells out ‘all the time’. His fingers are shaking but each letter was clear. He repeats it twice more to make sure Bucky really gets it.

That settles it. “Okay, no problem. We’ll keep going like we’ve been doing it. I’ll keep talking your ear off all day, I promise.”

Steve’s fingers hesitate on his palm, then they’re reminding Bucky that he shouldn’t base this decision on what Steve wants.

Bucky smiles gently. “I know. I know it’s my choice. And because I know better than anybody what it’s like not to hear the voice of the person I love anymore, I’d never do that to somebody else, especially if that person is you. Nobody else matters more than that. Nobody.”

Bucky can feel Steve press his face against Bucky’s neck. He can feel him smiling and the earlier tension has drained out of him. Bucky feels him squeeze his hand and spells out ‘thank you’.

“You don’t gotta thank me for that, Stevie. I know exactly how important this is to you and I’d never take that away. Never. Even if I’m in a big snit over something.”

He lifts Steve’s face, kisses him and brushes his nose with his own. “And one more thing: thank you for telling me about all this. You’re right—I had a right to know. But you know what? I don’t got time for people’s silliness. If they’re saying mean things or asking rude questions, don’t tell me. I got better things to do then focus on that.”

Steve asks him if he’s sure.

“Absolutely.”


	67. Chapter 67

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very exciting news! The amazing [Royal_Ermine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Royal_Ermine/pseuds/Royal_Ermine) has created a [beautiful cover](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14089953) for this fic! I think it's amazing and I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I do.

Steve thinks about Leon’s words a lot:

_You are Bucky’s eyes and ears and he’s a grown man. You can’t pick and choose what you think Bucky should have to hear or see. You know that’s not your right._

He realizes that he’s been going about things the wrong way. He always thought of interpreting as something he does to get Bucky involved in a situation, whether they’re watching movies or talking to Mr. Garland at the grocery store. He’d always assumed it’s his job to filter the information he feeds Bucky in order to protect him and keep him happy and confident.

But now he realizes that’s not an interpreter’s job at all.

He’s just supposed to be Bucky’s eyes and ears. Eyes and ears aren’t capable of distinguishing between good information, bad information or irrelevant information. That’s the brain’s job. And Bucky has a brain and can decide what to do with the information he gets.

So it’s Steve’s job to just tell Bucky what his eyes and ears would be hearing and seeing if they worked properly. Even if Steve is talking to somebody on Bucky’s behalf, it’s not Steve who should be filtering and analyzing the information he collects. It’s Bucky.

Steve’s just the physical body which is collecting information on Bucky’s behalf. That’s where his responsibility ends. He has no right to filter information based on his own desires, even if he’s doing the filtering out of a sense of love and protectiveness.

If he’s doing something on Bucky’s behalf—like helping conduct a conversation that Bucky’s participating in or researching something for him (like braille-learning techniques)—Steve needs to collect the information and bring it to Bucky in the same condition it was presented to him.

He realizes what a huge responsibility this is. Bucky has no choice about trusting him. Steve is his main communication conduit with the world and Steve has to take that responsibility much more seriously. That means not keeping anything from Bucky unless he specifically asks Steve to keep it from him.

He has a long discussion about all of this with Bucky, and Bucky seems thrilled at Steve’s realization, but Steve realizes these new rules will require Bucky to make some changes too.

“If I’m not gonna filter information for you anymore, then you gotta change how you do things too,” Steve tells him.

“What? I can’t be part of conversations without your help, Rogers. There ain’t nothing I can do about that. I can’t just start a conversation with a stranger when I don’t know if they’re looking at me or walking away.”

“You can’t change your sight or your hearing, but you can be a lot more involved. I don’t like it when I’m talking to somebody about something that has to do with you or both of us, and you decide you don’t wanna participate because you think I’m taking too long interpreting or you’re scared you won’t keep up and then you just stand there like a rock.”

Bucky scoffs. “When’s the last time I didn’t wanna participate?”

“How about when we adopted Maggie? You didn’t even wanna come with me to meet Maggie that first time. And last week when we were talking to Niloufar at the restaurant about her son, I know you didn’t keep up with the conversation. You put your stupid smile on and stopped talking.”

“I lost track of what you were saying cause somebody bumped into me.”

“Then you gotta tell me that, Buck! I ain’t gonna get better at interpreting if you don’t push me, but you ain’t gonna get better at this new way of socializing if I don’t push you. So we gotta hold each other to higher standards.”

Bucky sighs. “Alright, we’ll try. I’ll be part of conversations more, and you’ll tell me what’s going on more.”

That reminds Steve about something else he’s been wanting to discuss with Bucky. “And by the way, why didn’t you tell me about finding that book?”

“Huh? What book?”

“You said you’d found one of the braille books on my desk two weeks before we started doing braille together. You said it upset you, but you didn’t tell me you were upset.”

Bucky makes a face. “I didn’t wanna make things harder for you. You already have so much to do during the day and me making myself upset over stupid things is making extra work for you.”

Steve gives Bucky’s hand a hard jostle. “That’s dumb, Barnes. You getting upset over something is serious and I wanna know about it. I ain’t ever gonna get mad or think you’re being annoying. That ain’t how we do things, is it?”

Bucky makes another face, but Steve gives his hand a hard shake and demands: “Is it?”

“No. No, it ain’t.”

“That’s right. This whole thing reminds me that I gotta start—no, _we_ gotta start working on finding you a therapist. That’s even more important than braille.”

Steve hates that Bucky doesn’t have anybody he can easily talk to about how he’s feeling other than with Steve. It’s especially difficult when the person Bucky is upset with happens to _be_ Steve.

Bucky deserves to have private conversations with somebody who won’t judge him for what he’s saying and will provide helpful advice. Natasha is a great friend, but her unpredictable schedule and her long periods of absence make her an inconsistent source of support. Steve can text and email Natasha or Sam if he doesn’t want to talk to Leon, but Bucky doesn’t have those options.

Bucky needs a therapist who he can visit whenever he wants and have private conversations with. Steve can bring him to and from the therapist office, but Bucky will feel free to discuss or complain about whatever he wants, including complaining about Steve.

But that’s all beside the point. “Buck, if you’re upset, I wanna know about it. I don’t wanna know twenty minutes later or two weeks later, I wanna know right then and there. Besides, you’re the one who wants to be treated like an equal. If you don’t tell me when something’s upsetting you, then how am I supposed to do team-work with you, huh? You gotta do your part too. I gotta trust that you’ll tell me if something’s too hard or scary or if you’ve had enough for a day. Otherwise, that ain’t a partnership. We can’t be hiding things from each other.”

Bucky sighs. “I know we always say we shouldn’t do that, and then we still do it.”

“Well, this time I’m really committed to doing better. Cause I hate it when you’re upset and I hate it when you’re mad at me, so I’m gonna do my best to change. But you gotta do the same thing. If we’re gonna be partners—real partners—when it comes to figuring out deafblind stuff, then we both gotta be fully honest. Deal?”

Bucky nods. “Deal.”

“To the end of the line?”

Bucky curls his fingers through Steve’s and squeezes his hand. “End of the line.”

*             *             *

It’s a work in progress.

Steve finds himself constantly filtering things before he remembers he isn’t supposed to do that anymore. And when Bucky gets quiet during conversations with other people and stops participating, Steve reminds him non-verbally that if he wants to say goodbye, he can, but he can’t stand there and not participate. Saying he doesn’t understand something is fine—becoming a rock isn’t.

When Bucky’s enthusiasm for learning braille continues to stay low, Steve tells him he’s not going to step in and push him unless Bucky says he wants to be pushed. Bucky’s a grown man who can decide for himself if he wants to learn braille or not and it’s not Steve’s job to push him about it unless he’s asked to.

“I don’t understand why you ain’t more excited to learn braille, but it’s your choice.”

Bucky shrugs. “I don’t know. I think all this other stuff that we’ve been dealing with recently got my head a bit turned around and I can’t focus right. I’ll get there, but you’re right—it ain’t your job to babysit me. It’s my job to tell you when I wanna do braille.”

When Steve is preparing to start the process of finding Bucky a therapist, he realizes immediately that he’s making a mistake again. He hadn’t even asked Bucky to confirm if he still likes the idea of seeing a therapist. They’d last discussed it before they’d brought Maggie home, but they hadn’t talked about it since. Maybe Bucky had changed his mind.

Steve has no right to proceed without making Bucky part of the process. Steve will just be the eyes and ears, collecting information. It’s Bucky who has to give the go-ahead whether to proceed with the whole project or not. So instead of getting on the computer and looking up therapist phone numbers, Steve calls Bucky over.

“Yeah?”

“Do you remember we talked about you going to a therapist?”

“Uh huh.”

“How do you feel about all that? You still interested?”

Bucky’s face lights up and he nods enthusiastically. “Yeah. Oh, yeah. I’d—I’d really like that.”

Steve feels guilty as soon as he realizes how important this is to Bucky. Maybe Bucky himself hadn’t realized how important having a therapist might be for him. But feeling guilty won’t make up for the past. Only future actions will.

“Okay. When do you wanna start looking? Today? You’re in charge of this project. I’m just collecting the information.”

That makes Bucky’s face light up even more. “Okay, let’s start today. You—you get on the computer and look for stuff and let me know what you find.”

“Yes, sir.”

*             *             *

Bucky is caught completely off-guard by the excitement that fills him when Steve reminds him about seeing a therapist. Originally he hadn’t been too excited about it. He’s not too keen on crying all over a stranger and he doesn’t like the idea of sharing deeply personal information.

But after the whole mess of finding the braille book and being upset with Steve, Bucky was reminded of how closed in and limited his contact with the outside world is. Normally, he’s very happy to stay in their little apartment with Steve. He knows where everything is, he feels safe and comfortable and loved.

But when he’s annoyed with the only other person who’s his daily source of human contact, that creates a weird feeling in his gut. It makes him feel very alone.

Those moments never last long, but he knows they’ll just get worse the longer he stays so isolated. He’s becoming more independent each day and now that Steve’s role has changed, Bucky feels even more in control of his own life.

But that means he’s becoming more and more aware of how isolated he is and he wants the ability to talk to somebody other than Steve. And if he has to tell a stranger about personal things in order to have that source of support, then that’s what he’ll do.

Forming new relationships with people, especially people who can help him and his loved ones is a skill Bucky has been perfecting since he was a little boy. Now that his disabilities severely limit his ability to form new relationships, he has to be more open about taking advantage of those opportunities when they come up.

And finding a therapist will definitely be one of those opportunities.

The whole thing cheers him up enough that he gets the whiteboard and the plastic letters and practices braille while waiting for Steve to report on the results of his research. He’s still ambivalent about the whole braille thing. Maybe it’s the shadow of the fight still looming over him. Maybe it’s because he hadn’t realized how much work it would be to learn braille and how complicated it would be. He was excited to pick up a book and start reading, but it’s clear that won’t be happening for a while.

But whatever the reason for his lack of enthusiasm is, he knows that Steve loves the idea of Bucky practicing braille and Steve is doing a great job at being a good partner, so Bucky will return the favor.

*             *             *

Steve is thrilled when he sees that Bucky seems to have decided to go back to practicing braille. He doesn’t seem very enthusiastic about it and he treats it like a chore that needs to be done, rather than a skill that will provide him with joy once he conquers it, but the important part is that Steve isn’t forcing him to do the exercises and Bucky isn’t trying to fake his enthusiasm.

Once they’ve figure out this therapist business, Steve thinks he’ll have another discussion about braille with Bucky and see if they can figure out a different way of doing things, and maybe that will spark that excitement in Bucky again.

But until then, Steve has a task to complete and Bucky may not be very thrilled about the braille, but he’s making good progress. He’s just moved from using the plastic letters to the Tack Tiles, and he’s progressing well. He likes practicing on his own and making up his own words and sentences, so Steve leaves him to it.

Bucky spends hours sitting on the couch, Maggie on her pillow on one side of him, a Tack Tile board and tiles on his lap and his cheat sheet on his other side. He’ll discuss with Maggie what words they should spell and which tiles he needs.

Maggie loves chewing on the tiles and throwing them around, but unlike their building block tiles, they can’t let her mangle the dots on these ones, so Maggie always gets some of the building block tiles to play with, while Bucky keeps his braille tiles far away from her. Sometimes some of Maggie’s tiles will end up mixed in with the braille tiles, which always makes Bucky laugh when he comes across them.

Steve knows Bucky will get bored of making his own words eventually and Steve told him he’ll make him exercises when he says he’s ready. For his own practice, Steve re-reads the three children’s books once a day to make sure his own skills don’t get rusty.

The bad news is that their quest to find a therapist for Bucky is going nowhere.

He can’t seem to find any therapists who deal exclusively with people who are either deaf or blind—never mind people who are deafblind. There are a few who know ASL, but they don’t know the deafblind manual alphabet. Some people do know a tactile spelling method that’s apparently related to ASL, but when Steve asks them to describe some of the hand motions for simple letters, he always realizes it’s not the deafblind manual alphabet. So he gives up on finding a therapist who can actually talk to Bucky.

The only way this will work is if an interpreter attends the therapy sessions with Bucky and interprets what the therapist is saying. It’s not ideal—Steve doesn’t like that this stranger will be listening to every word that Bucky’s saying—but it seems to be his only option.

So he starts trying to find an interpreter, but unfortunately, that doesn’t end up going well either. Every single interpreter thinks Bucky knows ASL, and when Steve explains that he doesn’t, they all assume he knows that other weird version of the manual alphabet which isn’t the deafblind manual alphabet.

Steve honestly can’t understand why none of these interpreters know the manual alphabet that he and Bucky learned. He knows deafblind people are a rarity in the US population, but he can’t believe that nobody he speaks to knows what he’s talking about when he describes it.

When the conversation about the manual alphabet fizzles, Steve is usually left with the interpreter suggesting that they can write letters on Bucky’s hand. While Bucky could probably handle having actual capital letters written out on his palm, it would be painfully slow. That’s their back-up option if Steve can’t find anybody who knows the deafblind manual alphabet.

But when Steve realizes that many interpreters charge ridiculously high fees and have a minimum 2 hour charge, he starts asking about cost before anything else. That ends most conversations very quickly. Not only would they have to pay for the therapist, but also the interpreter—who would get the 2 hour pay regardless of how long the actual session is—but Bucky would have to schedule his appointments so they work for the therapist _and_ the interpreter.

Just yesterday, Steve had gotten into an argument with an interpreter who charges $200—$200!—per hour, and had a 2 hour minimum.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Steve had demanded. “$200 an hour?!”

“I need to make money, sir.”

Steve had scoffed. “By overcharging disabled people who are coming to you for help?! That’s a great way to fatten your wallet! You and I both know disabled people have a hard time making money—and then you overcharge them anyway?”

“I have the right to charge what I think is appropriate.”

“What planet are you living on?! That’s so far away from appropriate, you can’t even see it!”

“I’m sorry you feel tha—.”

That’s when Steve had hung up.

He’s done the math. Using an expensive interpreter would mean each of Bucky’s sessions would cost about $500. If that’s their only option, then that’s what they’ll have to do—but he hadn’t factored such big costs into their financial situation. He’s not making a lot of money at his job, and he can’t let go of that fear, that mentality of ‘save money, save money, save money’. Yes, they have the investment account, and he and Natasha are making good progress on getting Bucky his back pay, but that doesn’t make Steve feel any better about it.

Unsurprisingly, Bucky is on the same page when Steve tells him about the conversation with the expensive interpreter.

His next step is talking to the city about the situation. The city does have interpreters available through a public service. He’s happy to hear that they charge reasonable rates—about $40 per hour—but then he’s told that there’s about an eight month waiting list.

He can’t wrap his mind around what he’s hearing. “Waiting list for what?”

“To book an appointment with an interpreter.”

“One— _one_ —appointment?! I need to wait 8 months to get _one_ appointment?”

“Yes, sir.”

He hangs up the phone because he’s on the verge of bursting into tears. He stares at Bucky, who’s sitting on the couch next to him with Maggie and the Tack Tile board on his lap, telling her what he’s writing on the board with the braille tiles. “Buck, why is this so hard? You deserve so much better than this. Damn it!”

Before he can get more upset, he firmly reminds him that he’s done the first part of the new rules—collect information—but he needs to do the second part still. He touches Bucky’s hand.

“Steve? You off the phone?”

He taps Bucky’s hand. Bucky drops the Tack Tile he’s holding and flips his hand over, ready to listen.

Time for the ears and eyes to report. “I talked to the city about interpreters.”

“Yeah? You ain’t spelling very enthusiastically.”

“No. There’s a long wait list. 8 months.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then: “So our options are to pay an outrageous amount of money for each session, or wait 8 months?”

“I’ll keep looking, Buck. I’m not giving up yet.”

Bucky makes a face, takes his hand back and strokes Maggie’s chest. “You hear that, Mags? People are stupid and the city is stupid. You wanna spell that in braille? Huh? That’ll show them.”

As if she understood what Bucky was saying, Maggie sympathetically rubs her beak against Bucky’s fingers. It makes Bucky smile, but his smile is sad.

Steve is just as annoyed as Bucky is about the situation and he tells Leon all about his annoyance at their next session. He realizes how ironic it is that he’s complaining to his therapist about the difficulty of finding a therapist for Bucky—who needs a therapist more than Steve does.

Leon listens to his rant and interjects with appropriate sounds here and there, but mostly he lets Steve talk. When Steve’s done, Leon offers him a glass of water and asks: “So you haven’t been able to find anybody who can do fingerspelling? I find that strange.”

Steve drains half the glass of water and then sighs. “Nope. Well—apparently a lot of people know some kind of tactile spelling, but it ain’t the deafblind manual alphabet.”

Leon frowns. “What do you mean? I assume all of those interpreters know ASL, which means they must know how to do fingerspelling.”

It feels like he’s had this conversation a million times. “Apparently there are different kinds of fingerspelling, but the one Bucky needs is the one for deafblind people. That’s why it’s called the deafblind manual alphabet.”

Leon frowns harder. “I don’t understand.”

Steve sighs. “ASL is too complicated. When Buck first came home from the hospital, we needed to find a quick way to communicate and learning ASL would take months. Learning a tactile alphabet was simple and quick.”

Leon is blinking at him. “Yes…so he learned ASL fingerspel—”

“No. He learned the deafblind manual alphabet.” Steve is seriously considering printing this stuff out on a card so he can just hand it to people when he has these conversations. Or maybe he should make a recording he can play when he’s on the phone. He’s tired of explaining the same thing over and over.

He sits there, staring at Leon, who’s frowning at him. Steve doesn’t understand why the man’s frowning. It’s not a complicated situation.

Finally, Leon purses his lips and leans forward. “Steve, I apologize if this is frustrating for you, but I feel like we’re talking about two different things. When you spell things for Bucky, you make the shape with your hand and he touches your hand to listen, right?”

Steve stares at him. He’s tired of dealing with such idiots. “No. That’s ASL. I do the signals right on Bucky’s palm. That’s the deafblind manual alphabet.”

Leon blinks at him, still frowning in confusion.  “Steve, you learned the alphabet you and Bucky use by looking it up on the internet, right?”

“Yeah. I told you that weeks ago. Nat found the websites first, but anybody can find them.”

Leon opens his mouth to reply, then he holds up his finger and goes to retrieve his laptop from his desk. “I think we’re talking circles around each other because we’re both using terminology the other isn’t understanding. I’m not familiar enough with these things to really…but let me try something.”

Bringing his computer back to his chair, Leon hands Steve the computer. “Can you find the manual alphabet that you and Bucky use?”

Sighing, Steve takes the computer. He types in ‘deafblind manual alphabet’, and as always—links to their alphabet pop up. He hands the computer back to Leon.

None of this is making him feel better about the stupid interpreter situation. At least, once Leon truly understands his and Bucky’s problem, he’ll sympathize with them.

Leon grabs the computer and thoughtfully frowns at the results. “This isn’t what I…I wonder…hmm…okay, hang on.” After some more searching, Leon frowns harder. “Steve…is there a specific reason you decided to teach Bucky the British manual alphabet? I mean, instead of teaching him the American version?”

Steve blinks at him. “What? What the hell are you talking about? I taught him the deafblind manual alphabet. It says the title right on the page.”

“I realize that, but if you search other parts of those websites, they’re clearly UK-based. Look here—”

 

He turns the computer around and points at one of the websites about Steve and Bucky’s deafblind manual alphabet. The [website](https://www.sense.org.uk/get-support/information-and-advice/communication/tactile-alphabet/) is new to Steve, but it has the words ‘deafblind manual alphabet’ repeated everywhere, and Leon has downloaded a chart that’s linked on the website. The chart shows the familiar finger movements which Steve and Bucky use every single day. None of this is proving Leon’s weird point about British-related things.

“Steve, read what it says here,” Leon says, pointing at a section which Steve hadn’t bothered reading yet.

Steve leans over to see the paragraph.

_Deafblind manual is an adapted form of finger spelling taken from British Sign Language (BSL). Each letter is spelt out…_

Steve frowns. “What the hell? Why is it connected to the British Sign Language? I thought it was international.”

Leon turns the computer back to himself. “Hang on, let me just check something.”

Steve is starting to have a bad feeling about this. He’s not sure he understands what Leon’s saying, but it doesn’t sound good. He sits there, anxiously staring at Leon’s face.

Eventually, Leon turns the computer around again. “Okay, see this? This [website](https://www.british-sign.co.uk/fingerspelling-alphabet-charts/) shows BSL fingerspelling.”

Steve looks at it and sees that most of the hand movements are ones he’s familiar with, but some are different. “No, that ain’t right. Look at the B. That person is making B using two hands. See how the tips of all fingers are squished together and touching? That ain’t right. A ‘B’ is supposed to be with one hand. You do that movement—squishing all your fingers together—, but you do it with one hand, and you do it on Bucky’s palm so he can feel it.”

Steve holds up his hands and demonstrates.

Leon nods. “Yes, I understand that. I think that’s what the other website meant when it said that the deafblind manual alphabet has been adapted from BSL. Look at the signs, Steve. All the signs which can be done with one hand on a flat palm can just be done on Bucky’s palm—or any deafblind person’s palm— instead. And ones which need two hands—like the B—they just halved the movement and do it on the person’s palm. So I think the deafblind manual alphabet you guys learned isn’t an international one. It’s a British version. I think that’s why you’ve been having trouble finding people who are familiar with it, since very few people around here would know it. I’m assuming most deafblind people use the American manual alphabet. Hang on, let me see if I can find an example. I remember seeing people doing it and they just used one hand, not two like the BSL one. Hang on…”

He types some more, then he turns the computer around to Steve again. “See? This is ASL fingerspelling. It looks similar to ASL, but it’s just letters so you can do fingerspelling. You should really consult a professional about these things. I don’t even know if what I’m saying is correct, and it seems you may have confused a few things yourself.”

Frowning, Steve takes the computer from him and stares at the [website](http://lifeprint.com/asl101/topics/wallpaper1.htm). It shows a series of hand movements with a printed letter below each picture. It’s set up exactly like his other websites are…except these hand movements are completely different.

Instead of being done on somebody’s palm, the hand motions are done in the air. Bucky would have to touch the person’s hand to…

…but wait a second.

This…this isn’t good. This isn’t good at all.

Leon pulls the computer out of Steve’s limp grasp and puts it aside. “You know, I really think Bucky should put in time to learn the American one. I believe a lot of first responders know it, so in case of emergencies it would be important for Bucky to…Steve? Are you alright?”

That’s…that’s…that’s…

“I—that’s—I…”

“What’s going through your head right now?”

He…

He…

He taught Bucky the wrong alphabet!

_He taught Bucky the wrong alphabet!!_

“I taught Bucky the wrong alphabet,” Steve whispers. He feels panic crawling up his throat but he’s feeling too numb to move. He realizes he’s having trouble breathing.

Sure, it was Natasha who had found the alphabet, but it was Steve’s job to check it over. That’s Steve’s responsibility. He’s the one who’s the captain of this ship and it’s his job to check things Bucky will come in contact with.

He’d allowed his joy at having found a simple communication method to override his common sense. He should have done more research and consulted with the damn professionals—who actually know what they’re doing, unlike him!

But of course, he didn’t do any of these things because he’s an idiot.

“Steve, I need you to look at me, okay? Look at me.”

With difficulty, Steve tears his eyes off the carpet and stares at Leon.

“Good. I need you to take deep breaths, okay? Breathe in and out on my count. Ready? Breathe in…1…2…3…and out…1…2…3. Good. And again…”

Steve struggles to follow Leon’s orders but then he feels the panic turning into a combination of guilt and anger.

He taught Bucky the wrong alphabet!

After they’d just made so many strides forward with their communication and fulfilling their responsibilities properly…and Steve makes a colossal mistake like this!

“Oh, my God…”

He feels Leon grab his hands and squeeze them. “What are you feeling right now?”

“I’m panicking.”

“I see that. Do you know why?”

That’s obvious. “I taught Bucky the wrong alphabet.”

“Yes, but it’s not the end of the world, is it? You and Bucky can communicate with each other and that’s what’s most important. It doesn’t matter what method you chose. It was a simple mistake to make. You’re not a professional and you’re doing your best. You can teach Bucky the American version and he can use that if he wants to use professional interpreting services or if he has to communicate with first responders in emergencies.”

Steve blinks at him. “But that’s—that’s—that’s the problem. It—it wasn’t my best. I made a huge—it—”

He taught Bucky the wrong alphabet.

_He taught Bucky the wrong alphabet!_

He’s a moron. He’s a moron who had no business trying to figure out what to teach Bucky! He has zero experience with deafblindness—did he really think randomly looking up things on the internet would be a valid substitute for getting professional help?!

That old guilt seeps into him again. Since Bucky’s braille learning has been improving, Steve hasn’t had time to dwell on his earlier guilt of having made so many mistakes with handling Bucky’s recovery and his quest for independence.

And now, it turns out that one of the mistakes he’d committed was one the biggest ones imaginable.

He taught Bucky the wrong communication method!

Steve had always assumed that due to deafblindness being such a rare disability that it made sense that nobody knew the type of manual alphabet he and Bucky used. But it turns out that many people around them might know a manual alphabet—but it’s not the one Bucky can understand because _Steve taught him the wrong one!_

He feels Leon squeezing his hands. Steve forces himself to give him a faint smile. “I’m fine. Really, I’m fine. I was just surprised, that’s all.”

Leon looks worried. “You don’t look fine. Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

Steve opens his mouth to start telling Leon about his guilt and stupidity…but then he realizes he has much bigger problems to deal with.

He’ll have to tell Bucky about this.

Jesus Christ, he’ll have to tell Bucky about this!

Steve will have to admit that he’s an arrogant idiot who thought he could learn what professionals need years to master. Bucky has been trusting him to steer this ship, and Steve hasn’t realized that the ship has been moving backwards this whole time!

“I—I have to go. I have to go talk to Bucky.”

“I really think you should stay a bit longer and talk about the—”

Steve shakes off Leon’s hands and stands up. “I have to go. I need to—I need to tell Bucky.”

Bucky is going to be so angry.

Jesus.

Bucky is going to be very, very angry.

“Steve, why don’t you wait a few—”

He walks out of the office, a cloud of guilt, frustration and worry following him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to apologize to my dear friend, Bluebird_Rose for painting interpreters in a bit of a bad light in this chapter. The availability/hourly charge for interpreters varies wildly from state to state, and I made certain choices in order to move the plot in a specific direction. While the situation I described is realistic in some areas, there are lots of places where interpreters are more affordable and more easily available.


	68. Chapter 68

Despite Steve’s efforts to calm down on the way home, as soon as Bucky feels the bracelet on his wrist and runs his hand further up Steve’s arm, he frowns. “What’s wrong? You’re tense and it’s not a good kind of tense. What did you and Leon talk about?”

“I—Buck…”

“Come on, let’s sit down.”

When they’re on the couch, Steve has no idea how to start. How can he admit to having made such a huge mistake?

“Just tell me, Stevie. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out, you know we will.”

Steve can’t seem to get his fingers moving. Bucky squeezes his hand. “You wanna cuddle first? Or you want a snack?”

No. Steve rubs Bucky’s hand. He doesn’t deserve cuddles or a snack. He needs to confess. He starts and stops moving his fingers multiple times, but each time, he curls them up before he manages to form the first letter.

Bucky’s going to be so angry with him!

Bucky’s frowning, looking worried. “Do you want me to leave you alone for a bit? We don’t gotta ta—”

That’s when Steve’s fingers finally start moving. “I taught you the wrong alphabet and I’m so sorry.”

Bucky blinks, then frowns. “What? You taught what? I wasn’t ready, sorry. Can you spell it again?”

Forcing his frozen fingers to move through the letters again, he carefully watches Bucky’s face, waiting to see the anger and annoyance on it. Out of all the mistakes Steve has made, this one is the biggest and the worst.

Unfortunately, Bucky doesn’t understand what he’s trying to say. “What do you mean ‘wrong alphabet’? There’s only one alphabet. Well, in the English language anyway. And you didn’t teach me my ABCs—I taught you the ABCs, remember?”

“No, Buck. I taught you the wrong manual alphabet.”

Bucky’s frowning even harder, looking very confused. “There’s more than one?”

“Yeah. The deafblind manual alphabet that I taught you isn’t a general one that everybody should know. Ours is based on the British manual alphabet. I think it’s for British Sign Language? They changed parts of it so it can be done on a person’s hand. But anyway, it ain’t—we should have learned the American one. That’s why nobody knows our alphabet. Cause that one’s British.”

Bucky’s face freezes while he works on comprehending what Steve said. When Steve’s finished spelling, he presses his lips together and stares at Bucky’s face, ready to face his anger and annoyance.

What he doesn’t expect is for Bucky to burst out laughing. “Are you serious?! We learned the wrong one by mistake? No wonder none of the interpreters knew what you were talking about!”

“I’m so sor—”

Bucky’s still laughing. “Oh, I guess we should pick up and move to England, huh? We don’t got a choice! Well, let’s go pack our bags, Rogers!” Clearly, he’s not paying attention to what Steve is trying to spell and he’s not taking this seriously at all.

Steve tightens his grip on Bucky’s hand and gives it a hard shake. “Quit it, Buck! Why are you laughing about this?”

The hysterics don’t stop. Bucky’s laughing so hard that he’s bent over. “Why am I laughing about this? Rogers, why ain’t you laughing about this? This is hilarious!”

Now Steve’s panic is starting to be replaced by irritation. He gives Bucky’s hand another hard shake. “It ain’t funny, Barnes! I’m an idiot who don’t know what he’s doing but I insisted on calling all the shots and I’ve led us down so many damn dead-ends, but this one’s the worst of the bunch! There are people who know how to do American fingerspelling and you could have been talking to them already—hell, you could have been going to therapy for months!—but you can’t because I’m a moron!”

Bucky’s laughter abruptly dies as he listens to what Steve is saying. “Hey. Hey, hey, hey, now hang on a second! Stop.”

Curling up his fingers, Bucky stops Steve’s words before he can launch into his second set of apologies. “None of this is your fault, Rogers. Okay?”

Steve rips his fingers out of Bucky’s grasp and tries spelling. “Of course it—”

“No, stop. Listen.” Bucky pulls his hand away and sticks it under his own thigh so Steve can’t keep trying to spell.

“Barnes, you know I hate it when—”

“I know you hate it when I don’t let you talk, but I know what you’re gonna say so I’m gonna save us some time. None of this is your fault, okay? None of it. You ain’t a professional and you don’t know nothing about deafblindness so of course you made some mistakes. It ain’t your fault that we couldn’t do things as a team in those early days and you had to stay up front and try things out by yourself.”

“I know I ain’t a professional, that’s the whole—”

“And I know you’re trying to talk to me right now, but you know I can’t hear you, so you might as well shut up and keep listening. You’re probably saying that you ain’t a professional and that’s the whole problem. Well, that’s a problem I was willing to live with and so were you. I didn’t want some stranger barging in here and telling us what to do and maybe deciding that us living together ain’t what’s best for me and taking me away. And I sure as hell wasn’t gonna go live in some institution where they would pretend to teach me things, but really they were just keeping me locked up. Maybe they would’ve mistreated me or not allowed you to visit or something, and then I’d be stuck there without you.”

Bucky clenches his jaw hard and he’s starting to look upset. “I felt safe here with you. I didn’t care how we did things or if we never figured things out, I just didn’t wanna deal with strangers or being taken away from you. Getting help from strangers wasn’t worth the risk. My head was so full of fear in those days—I couldn’t have handled any of that. And cause I couldn’t figure things out on my own, it ended up on your plate.”

Bucky falls silent, and Steve sees his eyes fill with sadness. “That—that’s the whole problem. It all ended up on your plate. Figuring out how to make me feel safe in the apartment, how to help me eat and dress myself, how to guide me, how to communicate with me—it all ended up on your plate, and I’m so sorry about that cause that’s all my fault. If there’s anybody who should be apologizing here, it should be me.”

“You? Are you crazy?” Steve frantically draws question marks on Bucky’s thigh. “You didn’t make all those mis—”

“No, it _is_ my fault, Steve. It _is_. You ain’t thinking about the whole situation. You’re just looking at small things and getting mad at yourself cause you got those small things wrong. But the whole, big thing? That’s my fault.”

“What the hell are you are you talking about? I’m the one who needs to be steering this ship.” He realizes that he’s spelling the words on Bucky’s thigh, his fingers moving out of habit. Bucky probably can’t understand some of the finger movements, but he knows Bucky will know what he’s saying.

Bucky swallows hard and his shoulders slump. He looks miserable. “I—I’m the one who put us into this mess in the first place.”

“You weren’t the one who—”

“I’m the moron who decided to get the surgery done.”

Oh, that. That’s stupid. “Buck, you’d been kept in isolation for nearly a year! You weren’t—”

“I know you’re reminding me that my head wasn’t screwed on real straight at the time, but that don’t excuse the fact that I dove head-first off this fucking cliff. I didn’t stop to consider the pros and cons and I didn’t do any preparation.” He clenches his jaw. “I could have. I could have told Ross that I wanted professionals to help me get ready. I could have made him see that letting me have that time and preparation would still be cheaper than keeping me locked up in the long run. I could have learned braille, the right manual alphabet, maybe even ASL—but I was so pre-occupied with wanting to get out of the Raft and wanting to be with you again that I pushed all that away.”

Bucky blinks hard and his eyes are shimmering with unshed tears. “I—I didn’t even give you the courtesy of warning you. I knew you’d try to stop me, but if I had thought about it some more, I would have realized that you’d end up saying that it’s my choice. You wouldn’t have agreed with it, but if that’s what I wanted to do, you’d support it. But I didn’t tell you about it. In fact—I disrespected you even more than that, didn’t I? I didn’t bother telling you about it…and once it was done, I just expected you to figure things out. I dove head-first off a cliff and I didn’t warn you or ask you to catch me—I just expected you to do it.”

Steve has had enough. He grabs Bucky’s sleeve and yanks his arm out from underneath his thigh so he can talk properly. “Since when do we gotta ask each other for help, huh? That ain’t how we do things, Barnes. That ain’t ever been how we do things.”

“That don’t change the fact that this is all my fault.”

“You weren’t in any condition to be making good decisions, Buck!”

“But I did make a decision, didn’t I?!” Bucky bursts out, his face crumbling. “I had days to reconsider or tell you or make preparations, but I let myself stay focused on the thought of being free. I ain’t saying my lack of thinking wasn’t understandable, but if we’re assigning blame, then the biggest chunk of it has to come to me.”

“I don’t agree.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and makes an annoyed sound. “Well, it sure as hell shouldn’t be going to you! All you’re guilty of is taking care of me and helping me figure things out.”

“Yeah, and that’s the part I messed—”

“Rogers, there’s a difference between asking you to support me with day to day things, and asking you to figure out how deafblind people communicate or walk around outside! I put way too much pressure on you and asked you to do way too much because I was too damn scared at time to focus on anybody except myself.”

“That ain’t your fault, Buck.”

“Right. But it ain’t yours either. Obviously, you’ve made mistakes. That’s what happens when somebody’s forced to jump into something without any preparation or guidance. And you soldiered through and did the best you could because you wanted to take care of me the best you could.”

Bucky squeezes Steve’s hand and touches Steve’s face. “How could I be upset with you for that? You did the best you could in an impossible situation. I put so much pressure on you and I didn’t do anything to help you.”

“It’s fine.” Steve realizes Bucky’s hand is on his face, so Steve’s spelling on his thigh again, which Bucky probably can’t understand.

Bucky looks upset with himself again. “You’re probably saying that you don’t mind, that it’s fine. But, no, it ain’t. You came home just now, all upset and thinking I was gonna be mad at you for something that ain’t your fault at all. All of that is part of why this is my fault.”

Steve grabs Bucky’s hand off his face and gives it an impatient jostle and then starts spelling. “I don’t care how many more times you say it—it ain’t your fault, Buck. I ain’t ever gonna blame you. You can keep repeating this for the rest of your life.”

Bucky sighs. He pulls his hand away from Steve’s spelling fingers to find Steve’s face and gently tap his cheek. “So we’re both deciding we ain’t gonna blame each other, huh?”

Steve smiles and taps Bucky’s cheeks multiple times. “I guess so.”

The tapping brings a smile to Bucky’s face and he brushes his nose against Steve’s and kisses him. The kisses are soft and a bit sad, but Steve can feel Bucky smiling against his lips.

Pulling back, Bucky curls up against Steve, leaving his hand on Steve’s thigh so he can talk. “So now what?”

Steve is exhausted. “I don’t know.”

Bucky rubs Steve’s stomach. “Well, I do. We’re gonna order Thai food for dinner and then we’ll go play dominos in bed with Maggie, okay?”

“I thought you meant about the new fingerspelling.”

“We’re leaving that until tomorrow. We’ve done enough hard work for one day.”

*             *             *

The next day, they’ve both calmed down and are ready to figure out how to handle the situation that’s facing them.

“Okay, so you think we should learn this other alphabet? The American version?”

Steve sighs. “I—Buck, I don’t know. Leon wasn’t even sure what he was talking about. I mean, it makes sense. The interpreters I talked to kept talking about ASL fingerspelling, but I ain’t comfortable just looking things up on the internet again.”

Bucky squeezes his hand. “I get it, Stevie. We’re a bit gun shy now, ain’t we?”

“I just…I really don’t wanna teach you something wrong again.”

“And I don’t want that either. It wastes your time and my time and that’s dumb. I think…I think I’m ready to consider asking professionals.”

Steve’s immediate gut reaction is: _No, no, no! Danger, danger, danger!_

Bucky smiles in his direction. “I know what you’re thinking, Rogers. Don’t worry, my brain didn’t leak outta my ears overnight. I don’t want any strangers coming here and I sure ain’t gonna go to any institution for help. We ain’t fools. But why can’t the professionals help us over the phone? Or over email? Most people have email addresses now, right? Can you see if you can find any deafblind professional helpers that would be willing to send us information through email?”

That sounds reasonable and safe.

Steve does a little bit of research…

…and within a few minutes, he’s left gaping at his computer screen, not knowing whether to cry, laugh or punch a wall.

He finds the ‘[Helen Keller National Center for Deafblind Youths and Adults](https://www.helenkeller.org/hknc)’…

…and the headquarters are right here, in New York.

Steve doesn’t know what part of this is more ironic: the fact that the center is named after Helen; the fact that the center serves deafblind adults; or that the center is located in New York.

Before he can think about it any further, he presses his motion sensor and calls Bucky over.

As soon as Steve finished spelling out his findings, Bucky is frowning. “Are you kidding? You know I appreciate your dumb humor on most days, Rogers, but this is serious.”

Steve jostles his hand. “Jesus. I ain’t kidding, Barnes.”

“Really? Helen has a center right here in New York that helps people like her and me?”

“Well…it ain’t Helen’s center, Buck. They just named it after her.”

“Whatever. Okay, this sounds like it might be the right thing, but I wanna know more. Do more research on Helen’s Center, please.”

So Steve looks around the website for a while. He’s hoping to find big links that will show him websites about communication and other topics.

What he finds is that the center prefers to do things more hands-on…

…which sets of alarm bells in his head again.

They offer classes and training in a number of areas that Bucky would benefit from: communication, orientation and mobility, vocational services…

…but all of those classes are held at the center and many of the students live at the center while taking the classes.

That sounds way too much like an institution.

Bucky agrees. “It sounds like they tell people they’ll teach them these wonderful things so they agree to go there voluntarily, and then they slam the doors shut behind ‘em and don’t let them leave.” He shakes his head. “No way. We ain’t going near this place.”

Steve agrees with Bucky. He remembers the visits they’d get from people from institutions who had come to take Steve away. They’d talk about how the people at the institution would help him learn despite his disabilities and how much safer and better his life would be if he stayed there, as opposed to staying out in society. He, his ma and Bucky had known that trips to such institutions were always one way.

No, they’re not going to walk into a trap.

Steve goes back to the website and discovers that the center does offer off-campus assistance, but again—they want to offer that assistance in person by coming to the deafblind individual’s home or workplace.

“That ain’t happening, Rogers. That’s how it starts, you know that.”

“I know, but I don’t wanna just pass this up, Buck. It really sounds like these people might know how to help us with things.”

Bucky chews on his lip for a minute, thinking it over. “Okay, how about this? You email somebody at the center and tell ‘em you want information about the ASL fingerspelling. Don’t tell them our names, where we live or anything else. If they get pushy and say they won’t help unless we give them personal information, then we can cut them off before they get any closer.”

*             *             *

To be on the safe side, Steve decides to make a new email address before contacting the center. When he’d first made his personal email address, he hadn’t understood that it wasn’t the same as a postal mailing address, so he’d included his full name in it.

He doesn’t mind it, but that’s not a good way to stay anonymous.

He and Bucky carefully draft an email, keeping things as generic as possible but still asking the questions they want answers to. He includes the links to the deafblind manual alphabet websites and asks her to confirm which alphabet they are and what the difference between the American and British versions are. When he gets to the end of the email, Steve panics because he realizes he has to put his name at the end of the email.

Bucky frowns. “Why? Is that a law now?” They’re on the couch and Bucky’s sitting behind Steve, the laptop on Steve’s lap. Bucky’s leaning his head against Steve’s and his hand is on Steve’s thigh so they can talk.

“I don’t know. But you gotta put your name at the end of letters. That’s just how things are done.”

“But this ain’t a letter. It’s an email.”

“It’s the same thing, Barnes!”

“Well, fine. But what are they gonna do if you don’t? If they’re gonna arrest you or fine you, they’d have to find you first, right? And how can they do that if you don’t put your name on it?”

That’s true. Steve finishes the email by writing ‘Thank you’ and doesn’t put his name. Before he can change his mind, he clicks Send and watches it disappear.

He takes a deep breath and squeezes Bucky’s hand. Bucky knows that means the email’s been sent. He wraps his arm around Steve’s front and kisses his neck. “Good job, Stevie. Now we wait.”

*             *             *

When Steve’s phone pings an hour later, he thinks it’s a work related email, but to his surprise, it’s a response from somebody at HKNC, Helen’s Center.

“Buck, we got a response from the center.”

“Oh, good! Read it to me.”

Steve opens it and interprets for Bucky while he reads it.

The woman who replied is named Cecilia Wong. She doesn’t seem fussed that Steve didn’t use a name in his email. First, she confirms that Leon’s discovery had been correct: Steve and Bucky had learned the British deafblind manual alphabet, which is an adapted form of the British manual alphabet, which is completely different from the American one.

Steve’s last bit of hope fades when he reads that, but Bucky must have already accepted their mistake as fact, because he jabs Steve in the side with his elbow. “Yeah, yeah, okay. Keep spelling, Rogers. What else did she say?”

Swallowing his disappointment, Steve goes back to reading the email and interpreting it for Bucky.

Their next question had been about how difficult it is to learn the American version. Cecilia confirms that while the American manual alphabet uses similar hand movements to ASL, the alphabet is just a simple, straight forward manual alphabet. She also informs him that a lot of people won’t know what he means when he uses the term ‘manual alphabet’. Many people call the American one ‘ASL fingerspelling’, and the non-deafblind British version can be referred to as ‘BSL fingerspelling’.

The email has several attachments and links to websites with [American manual alphabet charts](http://lifeprint.com/asl101/topics/wallpaper1.htm) and [videos](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fXf4d23WqiA) of people demonstrating how to do the ASL fingerspelling. She wishes him luck with the fingerspelling and tells him to contact her if he or his friend have any other questions.

Steve blinks. So does Bucky.

“That…that went a lot better than I thought it would,” Bucky mutters.

“Yeah. Yeah, it did.”

Bucky smacks his hand on the table. “Alright, let’s start learning. How do we do A?”

“I haven’t even opened the—”

“I’m waiting, Rogers. Hurry up! I think we can get this in twenty minutes. In fact, I’ll bet you that we’ll be fluent in thirty minutes.”

*             *             *

Steve tells him he refuses to start teaching him ASL fingerspelling until he’s read through the websites and watched the videos Cecilia sent. Which means Bucky goes to take care of his plants…then spends time with Maggie…and he’s deciding whether to work on his knitting project or do some braille practice, when Steve finally tells him he’s ready.

“Okay, let’s go!” Bucky sits at the table next to Steve and puts his hand on the table again. He wants to get this done as soon as possible and then get back to doing fun things. He agrees that he should know this new alphabet in case he has to communicate with emergency personnel, and it may help him communicate with an interpreter so he can go to therapy, but he doubts it’ll be useful for anything else.

Bucky’s first indication that this alphabet is very different from the one he’d grown familiar with is when Steve doesn’t start spelling on his hand…but he lifts Bucky’s hand and wraps it around his own hand, that’s curling into a fist.

“What are you doing?”

Steve’s hand moves as it changes into a different shape. He uses his other hand to keep Bucky’s hand firmly curled around Steve’s moving hand.

Frowning, Bucky pulls his hand off Steve’s. “What the hell—”

Steve grabs his hand and starts spelling in their old way. He reminds Bucky that he wanted to be done within 20 minutes, which means there’s no time for questions, only learning.

“Yeah, but…”

Then Steve brings Bucky’s hand to his face, and Bucky can feel the smirk.

“Oh, you punk! Very funny!” Bucky laughs and gently smacks Steve over the head. Steve grabs his hand and pokes him in the stomach. “Hey! Mrs. R, look at what this punk son of yours is doing! You’re being a wisecracker, Rogers.”

Steve grabs Bucky and pulls him into his arms, pressing his laughing face into his neck. Bucky reaches around and smacks Steve’s hip. “Alright, I guess you have a point. Let’s get set up properly.”

Grabbing the whiteboard and the set of plastic letters, Bucky sits on the floor and waits until he feels Steve brush past him as he sits across from him. Bucky assumes Steve’s brought the computer with him, since he doesn’t believe the punk has memorized the new alphabet already.

Bucky fiddles with the plastic T, smiling as he rubs his fingers over the braille dots on it. Using their plastic letters to learn a new alphabet is something that’s familiar, but being able to read both the braille and the shape of the letter is new.

Finally, Steve grabs his hand and asks him if he’s ready.

“Hang on, let me find A.” He sorts through his pile of letters, finds the A and slaps it onto the whiteboard. “Okay, let’s do A.”

Steve tells him to hold on and listen first. He explains that this alphabet is done differently from the British one. Instead of the letter symbols being done on Bucky’s hand, the letters are formed by the speaker’s hand, and it’s Bucky’s job to feel the shape of the hand and figure out what shape is being made.

That’s…different. Bucky doesn’t know how he feels about that, but he decides to give it a try. “Okay, let’s do it.”

He holds out his hand and Steve wraps Bucky’s hand over Steve’s hand while he curls it into a fist.

Bucky frowns. There’s something oddly familiar about doing this. His confusion had kept him distracted earlier, but now that he’s fully paying attention, that familiarity is getting stronger.

It takes him a few seconds until he remembers another time when somebody had tried to communicate with him like this. “You know what? I think the lady at the APS center tried talking to me using this alphabet. I didn’t know that’s what she was doing, but it must have been this.”

He doesn’t want to spend any extra time dwelling on those memories, so he focuses on the shape of Steve’s fist. “Okay, A is a fist.”

They move through the first few letters quickly. B has the hand fully open. C is a curled hand, in a C shape. D is done with an extended index finger and making a circle with the middle finger and thumb…

…and E is another fist.

“What? Wait, wait, wait. That’s wrong. A fist is ‘A’. Check the website.”

Steve rubs his hand. He tells Bucky that he’s not making the same shape for E as for A.

“Yes, you did. You made a fist both times.”

Rub, rub, rub. Steve tells him he needs to pay closer attention. The position of every finger is important.

“Okay, do an A again.”

Steve forms a fist and Bucky carefully explores his hand. It’s just a fist. There’s nothing remarkable about it.

“Now do E.”

He feels Steve’s hand shift and now that he’s paying more attention, he can feel the differences. For the A, Steve’s thumb was pressed against the side of his hand, pointing upwards. For the E, his thumb is tucked against the palm of his hand, underneath the tips of his other fingers.

Oh, this is tricky! He needs to fully explore Steve’s hand to detect the differences. Damn. That will slow him down a lot.

Bucky pulls his hand off Steve’s. “This…this is harder than I thought.”

Steve tells him that’s to be expected. All of the letters are being formed by one hand and the number of hand movements somebody can do is limited.

They continue moving through letters. They uncover more that are very similar to each other. M, N, O, S and T all involve making a fist with minor changes in thumb and finger placement.

It’s harder than Bucky thought it was going to be. When they’ve finished going through the alphabet a few times, Steve spells out some practice words that Bucky has to decipher. Then they switch, and Bucky spells out words for Steve.

Bucky picks the word ‘C-A-T’, and he’s focusing so hard on remembering how to do the hand movements that he’s taken off-guard when Steve starts rubbing his thigh in the middle of him doing his T.

“What? I’m right, I know I am. C is the letter C. A is the fist with the thumb—”

He’s been doing the movements while describing them, but Steve is rubbing his thigh again and grabbing his hand. He tells Bucky that one of the videos Cecilia sent them [shows common mistakes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PUc11JMRJDI) that people make, and Bucky’s making one of them.

“What mistake?”

Steve tells him to do C again. Bucky obediently curls his hand to form the letter C. Steve grabs his hand and moves it so Bucky’s palm is facing outwards. Then he lets go.

Bucky frowns. “You didn’t do anything.”

Flattening Bucky’s hand, Steve tells him that Bucky needs to be very precise with the hand movements. He can’t just change the way his hand is facing or where he puts his fingers.

Bucky makes a face. He’s losing enthusiasm for this new alphabet quickly. With their other fingerspelling, each movement is distinct enough that slight variations can be made without changing the meaning of the letter.

Steve must notice his facial expression, because he asks Bucky what’s wrong.

“It’s hard.”

Steve tells him they’ll practice lots and it’ll get easier over time.

“Yeah, I guess.”

Steve gives his hand a shake, wanting to know why Bucky’s lost his enthusiasm.

“I—I don’t like having to learn something hard if I’m never gonna be able to use it.”

Steve reminds him knowing this alphabet will allow him to communicate with interpreters so he can go to therapy. That would be an immediate benefit.

Bucky makes a face again. “Yeah, but…you know how long it takes to spell things out. I’m not used to this alphabet and it’ll take me a while to get comfortable with it, but even once I do—having things spelled out takes forever. I like our version better.”

He knows Steve is going to remind him that the interpreters don’t know their version.

Sure enough, that’s exactly what he says.

“I know. And I know it’s stupid wishing that they did. Wanting things and getting things are two different things—I know. But I still don’t like it. And I don’t like having to touch people like that either.”

Question marks are drawn on his hand.

“I like it better when you or other people are doing the things on my hand. It feels weird touching people.”

Steve points out that it’s just as strange for other people to touch Bucky’s hand. There aren’t other options: one person has to touch the other in order to use manual communication. That’s just a fact.

“I know that, but I just…I don’t like it. And I think I’m extra annoyed because it’s harder than I thought and it feels weird and I don’t think it’s gonna be that useful. I—I hate that I always gotta learn new things. We just got comfortable with our way of talking and now it turns out that’s all wrong.”

*             *             *

Steve gives Bucky a long look. He thinks he understands why Bucky’s feeling weird about this.

“Buck, this has nothing to do with how you and I communicate. We can talk however we want. I don’t care if we learned an alphabet that nobody else knows. We’ve changed it a lot anyway, haven’t we? We have our own signs, we made shorthand phrases and abbreviations and we even have our own way of forming sentences. Even if an interpreter knew how to do the British deafblind manual alphabet, they’d still have to spell things out. They wouldn’t know how to do our version.”

Bucky presses his lips together. “So we can keep talking the way we want to?”

Steve taps Bucky’s hand multiple times. “Of course we can! We can do whatever we want! Ain’t nobody gonna tell us that we’re doing it wrong. Or maybe they will, but we’ll ignore ‘em. We’ve always done things in ways that make life good for both of us and we’re gonna keep doing that.”

“So…so you’re okay if we keep talking the normal way? Not using the new alphabet?”

“I think we should practice it, Buck. Remember that Cecilia said a lot of medical people know the American fingerspelling, so you should be comfortable with it. When you’re having an emergency, you’re gonna have enough things on your mind. It would be dumb not to do everything you can to make communication easier, right?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“In fact, I think it would be a good idea if we both learned a little ASL.”

Bucky’s face falls again. “ASL is hard. Real hard. That’s what you say all the time.”

“I know. But I don’t mean we gotta do it all at once. Maybe just how to do numbers and how to say hello. Easy things like that. Things that will make it easier to talk to the interpreter.”

Bucky’s looking a little wary again. “But I like our number system.”

Steve smiles and pulls Bucky into his arms and kisses him. He grabs Bucky’s hand, kisses his palm and starts spelling. “I do too. I told you: you and I can communicate however the hell we want for the rest of our lives. I don’t care what method we use, as long as you’re happy with it and you can understand me.”

Bucky’s smiling a bit, which is a good sign. “Okay, we can practice the new alphabet. But I don’t wanna do ASL right now. I’ve got other things I wanna do.”

“That’s fine. We’ve got our whole lives ahead of us, Buck. We don’t gotta do everything in one day.”

“And if I decide I don’t wanna do it at all…”

“Then you don’t gotta ever learn it. I promise. You’re in charge.”

Steve is happy to see the small smile on Bucky’s face grow a bit bigger, but he wants to get Bucky completely out of his glum mood. “Hey, I have an idea.”

“What?”

Steve’s been slouching against the couch and he grabs the waistband of Bucky’s pants and pulls him into his lap. He nuzzles Bucky’s neck and slowly kisses up one side to Bucky’s ear, then does the other side.

Bucky hums happily and shifts his head to give Steve more room. “Oh, I like that.”

“Yeah, I know you do,” Steve mumbles against his neck. He picks up Bucky’s hand. “So here’s my idea. You show me how well you can do the new alphabet and I’ll show you how much I appreciate your new skill.”

Bucky frowns. “And how exactly are you gonna show—”

Steve cups Bucky’s cock through his sweatpants and gives it a gentle squeeze.

“Oh! Oh, I like that plan.”

Grinning, Steve takes his hand off and folds Bucky’s hand into the letter A shape. Then he slides his hand back to Bucky’s cock and gently rubs.

Bucky’s smiling, but his hand stays in a fist shape, clearly not taking this seriously. Steve presses his face into Bucky’s neck so Bucky can feel his grin—and takes his hand off his cock.

Bucky makes a noise of protest and smacks Steve on the side. “Come on, Rogers.”

“No, you come on. I explained the rules. You ain’t following them.”

“I don’t know what you’re babbling about, but I can guess.” Bucky sighs dramatically. “Okay, fine.” He forms a fist again. “A.” He opens up his palm, thumb pressed against it. “B.”

Steve smiles and relaxes against the couch. Bringing his hand back to Bucky’s cock, he rubs him gently through his pants, feeling him start to get interested.

“Oh! I—Oh.” Bucky’s hand curls into a C shape. “C.”

Grinning, Steve divides his attention between the shapes Bucky’s making with his hand and Bucky’s face. He’s smiling happily and his glum mood from earlier has completely disappeared.

It seems Steve managed to salvage this whole ASL alphabet situation.


	69. Chapter 69

“You ready?” Steve asks, spelling on Bucky’s hand.

“Yup. Let’s do this.” Bucky’s slouched against Steve’s side, his hand on Steve’s thigh.

Steve puts his phone on speaker and dials Natasha’s number. They know she’s home and they’ve been wanting to meet up with her anyway, but they had both agreed that they wanted to tell her about the alphabet mix-up before Natasha found out on her own.

The phone rings on Steve’s lap and he shifts his foot so it’s hovering over Bucky’s, ready to signal him.

After the third ring, Natasha’s voice comes out of the phone. “Hi, Rogers.”

“Hey, Nat.” Steve steps on Bucky’s foot and Bucky sits up from his slouch.

“Hey, Nat! It’s Buck.”

“Oh! Hi, you! How—”

“You’re gonna have to bear with us cause we ain’t done interpreting over the phone before,” Bucky says.

She laughs, sounding excited. “No problem. Rogers, you tell me when you’re done interpreting.”

Steve interprets what she said, then: “Okay. Listen, I’m gonna let Buck do all the talking. It’s too complicated if I’m talking and interpreting at the same time.”

“You do whatever makes things easier. I’ll stay quiet until you’re ready,” Natasha says.

Bucky’s been patiently waiting for Steve to give him his next signal, and after Steve tells him that Natasha understands what’s going on, he’s ready.

“So we’re calling for two reasons. First, do you wanna do lunch at our Russian restaurant tomorrow?”

“Yeah, sure! What time?”

Steve interprets and the conversation slowly moves back and forth as Bucky and Natasha pick a time and decide where they’ll meet up. Thankfully, both of his conversation partners are patient and let Steve guide the flow of things.

Once they’ve finalized their plans for tomorrow, Bucky launches into the real reason behind his call.

“Nat, listen. I know you’re thinking that you could have figured out lunch plans with Rogers in half this time using texts, but I wanted to call you myself. So recently, Steve and I found out that we learned the wrong manual alphabet.”

“What? What do you mean ‘wrong’—”

Steve is momentarily torn. He knows Bucky isn’t done talking, but he doesn’t know if he should interpret what Natasha is saying…

…but as soon as he starts moving his fingers, Bucky closes fist and holds Steve’s fingers still.

“No, Nat. Let me talk, okay? Rogers and I realized a few days ago that the alphabet we learned is the British one, not the American one. Now, I know you’re gonna start feeling guilty and that’s why I’m calling instead of Rogers. This ain’t your fault—”

“I’m the one who sent you—”

Steve tries moving his fingers, but Bucky isn’t letting him spell.

“You might as well shut up and listen to me cause I ain’t letting Steve interpret, so I can’t hear you anyway. This ain’t your fault, Nat. Yeah, maybe on the surface it is, but we all knew that you didn’t know anything about deafblind communication and you were just trying to help. Steve’s told me that you’ve been asking him to get professionals to help us for months and he’s always turned you down. We weren’t willing to listen to your best advice but you love us too much to just abandon us—no matter how silly we’re being—so you gave us your second-best advice. It turned out that the advice wasn’t exactly right, but it did help solve our biggest problem, didn’t it? Gimme a yes or no answer only. I ain’t letting Steve do anything other than that.”

He released Steve’s fingers.

Natasha’s silent for a minute, then she finally sighs. “Yeah, I guess. The main problem at the time was that the two of you couldn’t talk to each other. The alphabet let you do that.”

Steve taps Bucky’s hand and then hesitates. He spells out ‘more’ and draws a question mark. Does Bucky want to know what else Natasha said?

Bucky shakes his head. He flips their hands around and spells out ‘I know’, then he continues talking to Natasha.

“You’re too smart not to realize that the alphabet was a huge help for us. It gave us both confidence and made our lives a lot better. I ain’t ever gonna regret that. Just cause it ain’t an alphabet that anybody else in this country knows don’t mean it ain’t useful for us. And that was your main priority when finding it: helping us. And you did that. So I don’t wanna hear any apologies and I don’t want you feeling guilty. We’re moving past it.”

Natasha is silent for another minute. Then: “Am I allowed to ask a question?”

Steve interprets.

Bucky smiles. “Sure. But not if it’s about you feeling guilty, cause that’s baloney.”

Natasha huffs a laugh. “God, Barnes. I wanna know if we’re switching to using the American one or if we’re gonna keep the old system.”

Steve interprets.

“Steve and I learned the American one, but I don’t really like it. Rogers and I will practice from time to time but you don’t gotta learn it if you don’t wanna. You know how to talk to me and that’s what’s most important to both of us, ain’t it?”

“Yeah.”

Steve taps Bucky’s hand.

“If you want, I’ll teach you the new alphabet.”

“Does that mean I can come over after lunch tomorrow?”

Steve interprets and Bucky laughs. “You’re hilarious, Romanov. As if you have a choice! But we ain’t coming home right away. We’re going down to the beach first and then coming home.”

“Are we going swimming on Sunday?”

Bucky snorts and grins. “Obviously.”

*             *             *

That evening, Steve gets a text from Natasha. He opens it a bit fearfully. He knows she still feels a bit guilty over the alphabet issue—Steve does too—but he’s hoping their guilt will fade with time. He really hopes that her guilt won’t make her pull away from them.

But her text message isn’t really bad news. She tells them that her de-briefing got postponed by a few hours, so their lunch date will have to be pushed back a bit.

They spend their morning at home, being productive despite it being a Saturday. They do braille practice, fix some toys which Maggie had broken by playing with them too enthusiastically, and they sign a dozen new papers in the still-secret mission to getting Bucky his back pay in time for his birthday. They have a few weeks left and Steve thinks they’ll accomplish their goal.

When it’s time to go, they head to the subway and start their journey to Brighton. It’s one of those unusually mild February days that fools people into thinking spring is just around the corner. They both know it’s not, but they’re using the day to their advantage.

Along the way, Steve asks Bucky if he’s in the mood to do ASL fingerspelling practice.

Bucky makes a bit of a face, but then he’s nodding. “Okay, fine. But just a little. Tell me what station’s next.”

Steve checks the little digital map above the door. They’re heading to Newkirk Plaza.

It’s been a few days since they’d practiced the spelling, so Steve tells Bucky he’s going to practice on his own first to get his hands re-accustomed to the hand movements.

“Take your time. We’ve got twenty minutes.”

Sitting up straight, Steve holds up his hand and carefully starts moving through the letters, making sure he’s holding his hand the right way and his fingers are all moving correctly. It still feels weird to do these hand motions when he’s so familiar with the little finger movements of the BSL fingerspelling, but he’s getting more comfortable with these movements each time they practice, so hopefully Bucky is too.

He does well until he gets to the first K. Doing K is always tricky: index finger extended up, middle finger extended out at 45 degrees, thumb pointed up and pressed against the side of the middle finger, and the other two fingers curled up. His thumb always wants to point in random directions, so he has to force it to get into the right position.

He repeats the K multiple times and studies it from all angles to make sure it’s right.

A movement catches his eye and he lifts his gaze from his fingers to stare at a young woman sitting across from them, who’s openly staring at him with a smile.

He smiles at her and opens his mouth to explain what he’s doing, but she beats him to it. “You’re spelling out ‘Newkirk’, aren’t you?”

Steve blinks, shocked. “Uh. Yeah.”

She grins and nods. “You did good. Your K is still a bit shaky, but you fixed your thumb. You’ll get better the more you practice.”

Steve keeps his ‘Captain America’ smile on his face. He feels completely stunned. “Uh. Thank you.”

“You should practice in front of a mirror. It’s not good to twist your hand around, but if you use a mirror, then you can see exactly what the person you’re signing to is seeing. It’s a great way to practice.”

This whole conversation is bizarre, but he remembers his manners. “Thank you. That’s—that’s great advice. I’ll do that.”

He wonders why he feels so weird about this conversation, until it hits him that he’s gotten accustomed to people not being able to eavesdrop on his conversations with Bucky when they’re both speaking non-verbally. They openly talk about the people around them and discuss personal matters without any regard for their audience, since they’ve been taking it for granted that nobody can understand them.

A small—ridiculous—part of him feels like telling her off for being rude and eavesdropping, but then something much more important occurs to him.

She had _understood him_. Steve had been using a form of communication that Bucky can understand…and this random stranger on the train also understands it. Which means that this random stranger could speak to Bucky right now if she (and Bucky) wanted to!

He quickly smothers the grin that’s threatening to take over his face and gropes for Bucky’s hand. He tells him that a lady figured out what Steve said! He adds multiple exclamation points to emphasize how amazing that is.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t given Bucky enough context clues to figure out what he’s saying. “Huh? What are you talking about?”

Steve repeats what he said, getting more excited as he spells.

Bucky frowns when Steve’s done his frantic spelling. He flips their hands around and tells Steve that of course she understood him. Most people in Brooklyn do speak English.

Steve sighs and gives Bucky’s hand a shake. He points out that he wasn’t speaking out loud. He was practicing his ASL fingerspelling and she figured out what he was spelling! She knows ASL fingerspelling! She’s a random stranger on the train and she knows ASL fingerspelling! Bucky could—

But Bucky makes a face and pulls his hand away before Steve can point out why this is so fantastic. Bucky flips their hands around and tells Steve he’s glad Steve wasn’t saying anything embarrassing. He hadn’t realized that random people would know this new fingerspelling. That means they can’t use it openly in public. Bucky doesn’t like the idea of people eavesdropping on them.

Steve gives his hand a shake and tells him not to be dumb. He should be happy that random people know this manual alphabet so—

Bucky frowns and gives Steve’s hand a light smack before flipping their hands around again. He says he’s _not_ happy about it. He liked that their way of speaking was secret and Steve could tell Bucky what’s going on around him without embarrassing them or being rude. And he doesn’t want some random stranger grabbing his hand and forcing him to listen to them.

Steve stares at him. He points out that he wouldn’t ever let a random stranger talk to Bucky without Bucky’s permission.

Bucky tells him it doesn’t matter. He wants to use the old method whenever they’re in public.

Steve doesn’t understand why Bucky is being so weird about this. It does feel a bit strange to know that other people could understand what they’re saying, unlike the British version, which nobody would be familiar with and it’s done in a way that allows for more privacy.

But why isn’t Bucky happy to know that there are people in the world—not just interpreters and medical professionals—who would be able to talk to him? He asks Bucky that question, but all he gets in response is a shrug.

Bucky says he just doesn’t like it. He likes that their other method is all theirs and they worked hard to learn it and perfect it.

“Yeah, but—” Steve catches himself, shuts his mouth and continues only using his fingers to talk. This isn’t a conversation he wants others listening in on.

Steve reminds him that they can use both methods.

Bucky glares in his direction. He reminds Steve that he had promised that they could use whichever fingerspelling method Bucky wanted, and he doesn’t want to use the American one in public. Or did Steve not mean the promise?

“Of course, I—” He presses his lips together and taps Bucky’s hand and re-emphasizes that it’s Bucky’s choice. But he wants to know why Bucky is being weird about this. If they practice the ASL fingerspelling more, they can do it without holding their hands up for the world to see.

Bucky still looks upset. He flips over their hands and when he’s spelling, he’s poking and smacking Steve’s palm, clearly upset.

He tells Steve that he can’t control having other people stare at him or make comments about how weird he is, but the least he can do is keep his communication private. He can’t whisper in Steve’s ear properly and he can’t write him notes, can he? Everything about him is open to the public to stare at and comment on, and he understands that he can’t do anything about that, but if he can keep some of his conversations private, he wants to have that choice.

That’s when Steve understands. He realizes that Bucky has been looking at this ASL fingerspelling idea from a completely different angle. While Steve is excited that the use of this alphabet will bring down more walls between Bucky and the world, Bucky isn’t ready for those walls to come down. He’s probably even more sensitive about those walls staying up after they’d had that conversation about what’s going on outside of those walls when it comes to the public noticing Bucky’s disabilities. While Bucky may be willing to talk to a therapist about personal issues, it seems he’s not ready to fully re-engage with the rest of the world yet.

And that’s fine. Bucky had always respected Steve when he expressed discomfort at mingling with certain crowds or going to big events when he wasn’t in the mood. Large groups of people always exhausted him.

Large crowds hadn’t exhausted Bucky in the past, but that was then and this is now. Communicating with strangers is very difficult for him and if he’s not ready for that, then Steve will grant him that.

He squeezes Bucky’s hand and apologizes. He tells him he meant his promise. They won’t use the American manual alphabet in public until Bucky feels comfortable with it. And if he never does, then they won’t ever use it in public.

Bucky relaxes a bit. He thanks Steve and tells him he’s still willing to do the practice. He gets why it’s important for him to get more comfortable with it, but he wants to keep using their old, familiar way of speaking when they’re in public.

Steve taps Bucky’s hand. If that’s what Bucky needs to feel comfortable, that’s what they’ll do.

*             *             *

Bucky’s lack of enthusiasm for the ASL fingerspelling is understandable, but it means that they’re no closer to being able to get Bucky to therapy.

After discussing it, Bucky had said that he’ll go to therapy with an interpreter if that’s what Steve wants—which brought that conversation to a halt, because this isn’t about what Steve wants, it’s about giving Bucky access to the same help that Steve had found.

Bucky had made a face. “It ain’t gonna work. It would take me too long to understand what the interpreter is saying and I’d be anxious about being too slow and wasting money. Then there’s the fact that I’d be talking to a therapist who I don’t know and can’t see and can’t touch, cause my hand’s gotta be connected to the interpreter. I just don’t like it. I don’t like that two strangers are gonna listen to what I’m saying and judge how quick I can understand the ASL fingerspelling.”

“They wouldn’t be judging you, Buck.”

“Yeah, they would. They wouldn’t say nothing out-loud, but I know they would.”

“What if we find an interpreter who knows the British deafblind manual alphabet? Now that we know that’s what it’s called, I can do more research. Maybe the people at HKNC can hel—”

“That ain’t gonna help. Those interpreters don’t know our short-hand so it’ll take the interpreter just a little bit less time to spell things using that than using the American version. Either way, it’ll still be slow. And all that don’t matter. I don’t like the idea of having this stranger listening to what I’m saying. Therapy’s supposed to be private.”

Steve sighs softly. He knows—and Bucky knows—that Bucky will have to get accustomed to interacting with interpreters who aren’t Steve or Natasha. That’s a fact of life that he’ll have to get used to if he wants to interact with the world without constantly relying on Steve or Natasha.

But the idea of requiring a stranger to be part of everyday conversations does seem odd…and Steve thinks Bucky is probably even more against the idea because therapy is an intensely personal thing. Steve doesn’t know if he’d feel comfortable talking to Leon if a stranger had to be there, listening and maybe judging what he’s saying.

Asking Bucky to get on board with using interpreters he’s not familiar with will be a big enough deal, but making his first experience with unfamiliar interpreters be at therapy is asking too much.

“I’m sorry, Buck. You’re right. You know that interpreters ain’t supposed to judge you and they’re just supposed to be your eyes and ears—” when Bucky opens his mouth, Steve squeezes his hand keeps spelling. “—but I agree that it’s a bit weird and I understand that you don’t wanna do that for therapy.”

Bucky nods. “Okay, so that’s settled. But that means we’re back at square one.”

Steve sighs softly and taps Bucky’s hand. Yes, they are.

The only solution is finding a therapist who can fingerspell. Hopefully he or she will be willing to learn some of their customized signs and abbreviations. It occurs to Steve that their options will probably be very limited. He hates the idea that Bucky will probably not have a large number of therapists to choose from, unlike Steve did.

The whole thing is upsetting and annoying.

Bucky deals with it by not focusing on it. He practices learning braille and spends time with Maggie and his other activities. He listens whenever Steve has an update—which usually consists of entirely bad news—but Bucky isn’t pushing him about it. He seems to have as little hope for this as Steve does.

As usual, the person Steve rants to about this most is Natasha, followed by Leon.

Leon is always sympathetic and gives words of encouragement, which helps to lessen the sting of defeat a bit. It doesn’t move them any closer to a solution, but it helps Steve feel better, and if he’s feeling better, then he can focus on keeping Bucky’s spirits up too.

But today, Leon doesn’t seem inclined to play his usual role in this repetitive drama. He’s sitting there, frowning and staring at Steve with a weird look on his face. “Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“How hard is it to learn the British deafblind manual alphabet?”

“It ain’t about how hard it is. We’re in America, so people learn the American version. It makes sense that it’s the most common one around here. That ain’t what I’m upset about.”

“I realize that, but that wasn’t my question.”

Steve sighs. He doesn’t see how talking about the fingerspelling methods will solve their problems, but maybe Leon is tired of Steve’s normal whining about this and he’s trying to steer the conversation in a more interesting direction.

“It’s not that hard. Buck and I both find it easier than the ASL version. Basically it’s 26 signals for 26 letters.”

“And how do you do full sentences? Do you spell out everything, even punctuation?”

“No. We do special signs for some things. Yes and no have their own signals, we use a question mark for questions, and we have a special system for doing numbers. We’ve got other special signs for things and we have a lot of acronyms and shorthand versions of things.”

“How many of these special signs do you have?”

“Uhm…I don’t really know. There’s some we rarely use.”

“If somebody is interacting with Bucky in a very specific setting, then they wouldn’t have to learn all the special signs, right? Only the ones relevant for that setting.”

“I…guess so. Yeah. But Buck’s fine having most things spelled out. Some signs are really quick and fast to learn—yes and no and the numbers—and everything else can be spelled out. If there’s a word that comes up a lot, then Buck will make up a signal for it himself. And if I’m real tired and he’s not, then he doesn’t mind doing yes/no questions.”

Leon’s staring at Steve. “Tell me if this is a completely outlandish idea, okay?”

“You know I always do.”

“What do you think about me being Bucky’s therapist?”

Steve gives him a flat look. “Leon, this ain’t something I’m in the mood to joke about. Buck would really benefit from seeing—”

Leon holds up a calming hand. “Calm down. I wasn’t kidding.”

Steve stares at him, his head spinning from this random topic change. “You—what?”

“Do you think Bucky would like to have me as a therapist? Do you think our styles would work well together?”

“I—Yeah, I think so. He already likes you anyway, and Buck is actually a lot less fussy with people than I am. But that’s all beside the point. You can’t fingerspell and Buck ain’t comfortable using an interpreter. That means I gotta find a therapist who can fingerspell.”

Leon is giving him one of his unreadable looks. “Could I learn how to do the BSL fingerspelling and your custom signals well enough to communicate with Bucky?”

“Well, anybody can learn how to do fingerspelling. It don’t matter which one you learn. And the custom signals are easy, especially if you learn ones that you use all the time.” Steve is still staring at him. The man can’t be suggesting what Steve thinks he’s suggesting. “Are you—Do you wanna try to learn how to communicate with Buck so _you_ can be his therapist?”

Leon gives him a small smile. “I’d like to try. Only if you and Bucky agree that it’s a good idea, of course. I have no idea how quick I’ll be with the tactile spelling, but if that’s the only thing standing between Bucky and getting him a therapist, then I’d like to try.”

Steve gapes at him. “Are you serious? It’s—It’s harder than it looks. It takes practice.”

“Well, I have a connection to a good teacher. I’m hoping he’ll be willing to help me.”

It isn’t until Leon smiles at him that Steve realizes Leon means him.

“Really? You really wanna do this?”

“I’d like to try.”

A part of Steve wants to jump around with excitement. The thought of finally finding Bucky help is fantastic. The fact that Bucky would be getting help from Leon is even better. But the rational part of his brain is pointing out that Leon can’t just start talking to Bucky in a few days. It would take a lot of practice, and there’s no guarantee that Leon will get the hang of it.

“It’s harder than it looks. Or sounds. You gotta practice to get real good at it. Otherwise, you’re spelling too slow and conversations take forever and Buck loses track of what’s being said.”

Leon smiles. “How about we work at it for a week and we’ll see if you can teach this old dog some new tricks? If I turn out to be hopeless at it, we’ll come up with another solution. Either way, we’ll get that boy of yours help.” Leon reaches out and squeezes Steve’s hand. “I promise.”

Steve still can’t quite believe what’s happening. “You’re serious? You actually wanna learn how to do tactile spelling just so you can talk to Bucky? You realize it’s the wrong alphabet, right?”

“Nonsense. It may not be an alphabet that most people around here know how to use, but that’s irrelevant. What’s important is letting Bucky communicate in a way that’s comfortable for him. If I decided to learn the ASL version, I have no doubt that Bucky would grow to be comfortable using that to communicate with me, but our biggest priority right now is getting Bucky some therapy. We shouldn’t worry about how those therapy sessions happen and whether we’re using the ‘right’ alphabet or not. I want to use whatever will make Bucky comfortable. That’s what’s most important, right?”

Unexpectedly, Steve’s throat tightens and he feels a wave of emotion come over him. “Right. I..." He had to stop to clear his throat. "This—This would mean the world to Buck, and to me. Thank you.”

The fact that this wonderful man cares so much about both of them that he’s willing to spend time learning a whole new way of communicating is amazing.

“When do you wanna start?”

Leon glances at his watch and then smiles. “Your session technically ended four minutes ago. We’re off the clock so we can start right now.”

Steve frowns. “No, Leon—I wanna pay you for the lessons.”

“Nonsense. I’ll be paying you. I’m the one learning things. You’re the teacher. Now, Mr. Rogers, show me those websites with the British deafblind manual alphabet and let’s get learning.”


	70. Chapter 70

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters for the price of one today! I hope you enjoy them!
> 
> I want to thank Bluebird_Rose for telling me about signing styles, which inspired me to create one of the scenes in this chapter.

Steve finds it very strange to teach a tactile communication method to somebody who can actually see and hear. Steve’s so used to using his hands to teach Bucky things that he automatically grabs Leon’s hands and moves them the way he needs. Often he forgets to pair his actions with actual spoken words.

Leon finds Steve’s behavior fascinating. When Steve apologizes—again—for grabbing Leon’s hand and briskly rubbing the back of his hand when he got a letter wrong, Leon laughs and waves away the apologies.

“Forget it, Steve. Go ahead and teach me like you would teach somebody who’s deafblind. I need more exposure to Bucky’s way of life and his reality. You treating me the way you treat him is a good way for me to learn how to interact with him.”

Steve chews on his lip. “I’ll try not to manhandle you as much as I do Buck.”

“As long as you’re grabbing appropriate parts of me, it’s not a problem,” Leon says with a chuckle.

*             *             *

Leon’s progress surprises Steve. At first Steve is convinced that the man hadn’t been completely serious with his idea. He’d felt sorry for both Steve and Bucky and he’d thrown this outlandish idea out there, but Steve thought he’d change his mind once reality sets in.

But he doesn’t.

After their first lesson, Leon must spend a lot of time practicing, because when they meet up for their next lesson, Leon flawlessly moves through the alphabet, the numbers, their special signals, and he even does individual letters correctly when Steve quizzes him.

They start working on spelling words and pacing.

Again, Leon must spend time practicing on his own, because by the third session, he’s putting together basic sentences.

“I’ll be honest: I couldn’t do it so well on my own. I taught my wife and we’ve been practicing together.”

Steve laughs. “That’s adorable and also very touching. Thank you.”

That’s the point when Steve asks him if he’d like to officially meet Bucky. The best person to keep teaching him is Bucky himself. Bucky can decide how many shorthand phrases and words he needs Leon to know.

“That’s a great idea, Steve. Why don’t you bring Bucky during our next lesson?”

Bucky had been thrilled—and deeply touched—when Steve had told him that Leon was learning the deafblind manual alphabet so he can talk to Bucky and possibly be his therapist. But like Steve, he’s been reining in his expectations. He told Steve that he doesn’t want to get overly excited only to find out that Leon thinks that communicating in a tactile way is too difficult and he won’t be able to do sessions like that.

Steve is reasonably sure that Bucky and Leon will get along well. The two of them already know a lot about each other and they’re two of the most easy-going people Steve has ever met, so he’s pretty sure there won’t be problems, but if Bucky feels uncomfortable around Leon, it won’t work out.

Unlike Steve, Bucky hadn’t been worried over whether he’d feel comfortable around Leon. He’d already decided he liked the man when he’d started helping Steve, so that wasn’t an issue.

But Bucky had one big concern. “So he knows about you and me, right?”

Steve had stared at him. “Uhm…yeah, Buck. He knows who I am and he knows who you are…he’s old but he ain’t senile. And he knows about our pasts and I had him sign those confidentiality papers, remember? Are you the one going senile?”

Bucky had rolled his eyes and smacked Steve’s thigh. “Punk. I  mean: can I be honest about us? I mean the fact that we’re queer?”

“You’re half-queer, Buck. By the way, have I told you there’s a new word for—”

Bucky grabbed Steve’s spelling fingers and shook them. “Answer the question, Rogers!”

Steve laughed. “Calm down, Barnes. Jesus. Leon’s known about us since the first day I started seeing him.”

“And he ain’t ever said nothing bad about it?”

“If he had, I would have told you about it, and I would have stopped seeing him. I ain’t ever put up with anybody saying something mean about us being together, and I ain’t starting now.”

“So I can be honest with him?”

“Yeah, Buck. You can talk to him about whatever you want and it’ll be fine.”

Bucky still looks worried, so Steve pulls him into his arms and kisses him. “It’s gonna be fine, Buck. And if you don’t like each other then we’ll find another solution.”

*             *             *

While they’re waiting in Leon’s waiting room, Bucky’s a bundle of nerves. Despite his earlier bravado, now that the day is actually here, he’s nervous. He’d picked at his sweater hem throughout the ride on the subway and he’d resumed as soon as Steve had helped him sit down, but this time, Steve gently tugs Bucky’s fingers off his sweater and tangles their fingers together.

Bucky transfers his nerves into squeezing Steve’s hand. Thankfully, Steve doesn’t complain.

A million thoughts are going through Bucky’s head: what if Leon thinks he’s weird? What if he can’t understand what Leon’s saying? What if he makes an idiot out of himself by missing the couch when sitting down or walking into a wall?

None of those are things he used to have to worry about when meeting new people.

Abruptly, Steve untangles their hands and starts spelling, as if he’s read the thoughts in Bucky’s mind. Steve reminds him that he’ll be with him every moment and Bucky can tell him non-verbally if he’s uncomfortable.

Bucky takes a deep breath and spells out ‘O-K’.

Then Steve starts spelling out the words to a children’s song they’d learned in school when they were young. Bucky’s too frazzled to track all of the letters, but he finds he doesn’t need to. Feeling Steve’s fingers gently moving over his palm feels soothing and helps calm him down.

*             *             *

When Steve realizes that Bucky isn’t tracking any of the words he’s spelling, he lets himself relax a bit and just repeats the same series of words over and over again.

He’s fallen into the rhythm so deeply that when Leon opens his office door and smiles at him, Steve momentarily forgets why they’re there.

“Steve! Bucky! Come on in, I’m ready.”

Okay, time to get this show on the road. Steve slows his spelling and gently squeezes Bucky’s hand to get his attention. When Bucky straightens up from his slouch, Steve tells him that Leon’s ready to see them. He asks Bucky if he’s ready.

Bucky discreetly taps Steve’s palm, hiding the movement from Leon’s eyes. Pulling out his cane, he stands up and lets Steve guide him through the open door.

Leon steps back as they approach. “Tell me what to do, Steve.”

“Just let me get Buck settled first and then we’ll do the introductions. Whenever he’s got his cane in his hand, he can’t talk to anybody.”

“Ah, of course.”

Steve notices that Leon has re-arranged the office the way he had it when they did their lessons. Usually Leon sits in a recliner and Steve sits on a couch and there’s a coffee table between them. That coffee table holds glasses of water and tissues, but the table is an obstacle when they’re having to maintain physical contact. Leon’s moved the coffee table to the side, but he’s kept his recliner in its original position, creating a big, clear space for Bucky to walk through to get to the couch.

“Thanks for re-arranging things. That’s a big help. It would be great if you could always arrange things the same way when Buck comes. He’ll get comfortable much faster if he can trust that things are where he thinks they are.”

“Of course. I’ll only move my chair closer when you tell me to.”

Steve helps Bucky to the couch and lets him explore it. Bucky’s frowning while he touches it. “Is this the couch, Steve?”

Steve taps on his hand.

Bucky carefully has a seat and puts away his cane. He’s got his polite gentleman smile on his face, but Steve can tell he’s still nervous. Steve has a seat beside him and discreetly squeezes his thigh to reassure him.

“Okay, Leon, pull the chair closer. Put it in the same position we have it during our lessons. Don’t touch Buck yet.”

Steve waits until Leon is in position, then he tells Bucky that Leon is sitting right across from him. He steps on Bucky’s foot.

Bucky’s smile immediately widens. It’s still his fake smile, but Steve doubts Leon can tell.

“Hello, Leon. My name’s Bucky. It’s real nice to meet you.” He holds out his hand.

Leon glances at Steve, who nods. “Go on. Just like we practiced.”

Leon shakes Bucky’s hand, then holds Bucky’s hand flat and spells out: ‘I am Leon. Nice to meet you.’

Steve watches his fingers carefully, making sure he’s using the right finger motions.

When he does it correctly, both Bucky and Steve smile at the same time. “That’s great! Good job, Leon,” Bucky says.

Leon glances at Steve again, unsure if there are any other introductory procedures to follow. Steve smiles. “That was perfect. Now you just gotta treat Buck the same way you’d treat any new patient.”

Leon smiles. “That’s the easy part.”

Steve keeps his hand on Bucky’s thigh and gently rubs his leg with his thumb, keeping the stroking light and soothing. He doesn’t want to distract him but he wants to remind him that he’s there and he’ll step in if things go sideways.

Steve watches Leon’s fingers as he asks Bucky how Maggie’s doing.

Bucky’s frowning with concentration as he listens to Leon, but once he figures out what he’s asking, his smile becomes more genuine. “Oh, she’s doing great! Real great. She loves her new ring toy. Did Steve tell you about it?”

Steve did tell Leon about it, but Steve sees Leon rub Bucky’s hand. He probably wants to keep Bucky talking. “No, he didn’t. Okay. It’s made out of plastic rings that she can chew on. But she likes to lift her foot—her good foot—and tug the ring between her foot and her beak. It’s pretty funny.”

Leon asks him if there’s video. He isn’t fast enough to do full sentences yet, so he just says ‘video’ and then does a question mark.

It’s the same way Steve had communicated with Bucky for months before they’d realized that they could both handle faster spelling.

Bucky smiles, knowing exactly what Leon’s saying. “A video is a great idea! I’ll remind Steve to film her when we get home. He can show you the video in his next session.”

Steve notices Bucky’s deliberately paraphrasing Leon’s questions and comments to make sure he’s understanding what Leon is saying correctly. He’s stopped doing it when he’s talking to Steve and Nat, but it’s a good method to use when talking to new people. Sometimes people might mix up signals or letters and they won’t be saying what they think they’re saying.

Leon tells him he’s happy Maggie’s playing more.

“Oh, did you mean to say ‘playing’? You actually did the ‘T’ instead of the ‘Y’. Yeah, ‘Y’ is tough because you don’t use it too much. Here—” Bucky fumbles to switch their hands around. “Let me show you. This is T—” he touches the edge of Leon’s palm below his pinky finger, “—and this is Y—” he places his index finger across Leon’s palm between his thumb and his index finger.

“Oh, I see. Yes, I remember now. Thank you,” Leon says. He spells out ‘T-Y’ on Bucky’s palm, one of the few acronyms Steve has taught him.

“You’re welcome. You wanna try spelling ‘playing’ again?”

Leon repeats the word and gets it right this time.

“Perfect! You’re happy Maggie’s playing more. Yeah, so are Steve and me. It’s great seeing her be more comfortable.”

They chat about Maggie a bit more, then the conversation shifts to what Steve and Bucky have been doing over the past week. They talk about Bucky’s plants, his progress with braille and ASL fingerspelling and how the Mets had done during their last game.

Eventually Steve stops watching Leon’s fingers. He leans back against the couch and relaxes, looking out the window and listening to Bucky’s side of the conversation.

As they move through different topics, Bucky teaches Leon a few more of their shorthand signals and the most common acronyms they use and he always corrects him when Leon gets something wrong.

They both seem pleased by the progress and whenever Steve looks over at either of them, he sees they both have genuine smiles on their faces.

Bucky’s nerves seem to have faded now that he’s realized that he can understand Leon and he can steer the conversation.

It’s amazing to be sitting next to Bucky and watch him communicate with somebody without Steve having to be the interpreter. Bucky can have simple conversations with people like Taj, Lisa and Niloufar who know some basic signals, but he can’t really have a back-and-forth conversation with them. The only person Bucky has that luxury with other than Steve is Natasha.

Now he’s got another person.

Bucky’s little world is slowly starting to expand again.

*             *             *

When they’re on the train on the way home, Bucky tells Steve that he thinks the meeting went really well. “I’ve always liked the man, and today went fantastic! It’ll be a little tough to have harder conversations, but I think I can do it.”

“He’ll get faster at doing the tactile spelling, Buck. He just needs more practice.”

Bucky smiles. “No, it ain’t Leon who’s slow, it’s me.”

“You? You ain’t slow.”

“No, sorry, that ain’t right. It ain’t that I’m slow, but Leon spells different than you or Nat do. Nat spells the same way you do. I think she watches how you do it and copies you.”

Steve stares at him. “What are you talking about? Every word only has one right way of being spelled. If there’s variety, that means the person you’re talking to can’t spell good.”

“I ain’t talking about the actual order of the letters, Rogers! I’m talking about how people spell. Like how you spell things on different days. The way you form the letters and signs.”

“You’re nuts. I ain’t got a…a…signing _style_.”

Bucky laughs. “Of course you do! You don’t just have one style, you’ve got all kinds of different ones, and they’re all different from how Leon spells. Leon just has one way of spelling right now, but that’ll change.”

“You’re making this up! What are my signing styles? Come on, tell me.”

“Well, when we’re just talking about normal things—like right now—your spelling is real fluid and quick. You used to be a lot slower and you used to leave big pauses between letters and between words. Now you move between each motion real quick and you don’t lift your fingers off my palm all the way. I had to learn to figure out when you were doing a signal or when you were just resting your other fingers on my palm.”

Steve stares down at his fingers. He had no idea he was doing that.

In fact—his fingers are resting against Bucky’s palm right now…and his index finger is gently brushing Bucky’s palm. The finger isn’t spelling anything, it’s just absentmindedly stroking Bucky’s palm because Steve’s not paying attention.

“Damn it!” He immediately freezes his fingers and pulls them away. He can’t believe he’s been confusing Bucky by being lazy!

“Hey! Where are you going? Get your fingers back here!” Bucky says, grappling through the air until he finds Steve’s hand again. He squeezes his fingers tight. “Oh, you goof! I didn’t mean it bothers me when you do that! I’m used to it. I know what your signals feel like, and when you’re just being cuddly.”

Steve still feels a bit guilty and Bucky narrows his eyes at the opposite side of the subway car. The person sitting opposite Bucky frowns back at Bucky, confused by Bucky’s mis-directed glare, but Steve ignores him. He’s too busy feeling guilty over confusing Bucky with his lazy signing style.

“I know you’re still feeling guilty over confusing me. Rogers, honestly, don’t you think I’d have told you if I got confused? Wouldn’t you have figure it out? It’s fine. Don’t get self-conscious about the way you spell. I love the way you’ve progressed with it. I can tell it’s you and what mood you’re in just by the way you spell.”

And that’s even more news to Steve. “You can tell my mood through my spelling?”

“Of course I can! When you’re angry, you push your fingers a lot harder into my palm and you mess up signals a lot. I think cause you’re mad, you ain’t concentrating, but usually I can figure out what you’re saying. When you’re sleepy, you get real lazy. You barely lift your fingers off my palm in between letters and you slide all over the place. It’s like mumbling into a pillow.”

That’s even more embarrassing. “Jesus, Buck—you should have told me if—”

Bucky curls his fingers up to stop his words. “Stop it, punk. I told you: if I couldn’t understand you or if it really bothered me, you’d know, wouldn’t you? I think it’s neat. I like being able to feel what mood you’re in. It makes it feel like I ain’t missing out on so much.”

When Steve doesn’t reply, Bucky gives his hand a shake. “Don’t be silly or I’m gonna get into a snit. And don’t you dare try going back to spelling all slow and proper or I’m just gonna ignore you. Anyway, we were talking about Leon.”

“So you can understand him okay?”

“Oh, yeah. He spells like you did at the beginning, but even slower. No, that’s not right, it ain’t slow, but it’s precise. I can tell he’s thinking about what motion he has to do before doing it. He always puts his fingers into the exact same position and always leaves the same pause lengths in between signs and letters. It’s a little slow for me and I gotta concentrate hard to keep the sentence in my head, but he’ll get faster.”

“You want me to practice with him some more?”

“No, I’ll teach him some more short-hand. That’ll help. But I can handle it, the real question is whether Leon thinks he can do actual therapy sessions by spelling the entire time. And make sure you ask him how expensive the sessions will be.”

“Yeah, I’ll call him when we get home.”

To their relief, Leon is on the same page as them. He tells Steve he’s ready and willing to do therapy sessions whenever Bucky’s ready.

That’s when Steve asks him how much Bucky’s lessons will cost.

Leon sounds surprised by the question. “I have a standard rate, you know that.”

“Yeah, but that’s your rate when you can have a conversation with somebody the normal way. Spelling things takes a lot more time.”

“Yes, but at this point, my spelling is still slow. I’m not going to be able to cover as many topics as I would in a normal session. So between those two issues, I think it’s fair to charge my standard rate.”

“What about when you get faster?”

“Then the fact that I’m spelling things out rather than verbalizing my questions and comments won’t be a big deal anymore. I’ll have even more reason to charge my standard rate since Bucky’s sessions won’t be any different than anybody else’s sessions.”

Tears spring into Steve’s eyes and he blinks hard to keep them at bay. He realizes it’s not just Bucky’s world which has slowly started to expand to include new and amazing friends.

He’s more certain every day that his ma had pulled some strings to send Leon to them. After all the bad stuff they’d been through, they were due for something positive, and getting Leon is like getting a whole bunch of positive things all at the same time.

She’s always done her best to look after her two boys, and this is no different.


	71. Chapter 71

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI: Tissues will be needed. Perhaps a whole box. If you have some to spare, Bucky would be happy if you gave them to him.

Bucky’s very nervous before his first session. He’s seen how Steve has been affected by certain sessions, and he doesn’t like the idea of putting himself into a situation that makes him so vulnerable. But therapy has helped Steve, and it’ll be nice to talk to somebody other than Steve about the things in his head, so he really wants to give this a try.

Steve accompanies him to Leon’s waiting room, but when it’s time for his session, Leon comes out to guide him in.

Bucky remembers roughly where the door to the therapy room is, and he identifies the door frame when his cane encounters it. He thanks Leon for his assistance and tells him he can find the couch on his own.

The cane finds the couch easily and he doesn’t encounter anything else, making his journey to the couch problem free. He touches the couch and has a seat, folding up his cane and waiting for Leon to proceed.

Once he’s put his cane down next to him, he feels somebody touch his hand.

“Leon?”

Tap.

“I’m ready if you are.”

Leon tells him he’d like to show Bucky where he put tissues and water, in case Bucky wants to help himself during the session.

He actually says:

T-I-S-S-U-E.

W-A-T-E-R.

F-O-R.

U.

I.

S-H-O-W.

Bucky has no trouble understanding him. He knows Leon will get faster with spelling out complete sentences as he gets more comfortable. Until then, Bucky is happy to piece the separate words together on his own.

“Oh, okay. Thank you. Should I stand up?”

Rub. Leon takes Bucky’s hand and guides it to his right, just past the armrest of the couch. Bucky shifts himself over so he can reach, and Leon helps him explore the top of a small table. There’s a cardboard box filled with soft tissues and a familiar shaped plastic bottle on the table. He touches the bottle very gently, not wanting to knock it over. The surface is cold and slightly moist, indicating it’s filled with some cold liquid. He’s thrilled to feel a familiar closed nub on top.

Excellent! It’s the type of water bottle he can easily use himself.

“Oh, that’s great! Steve told me he uses a glass when he’s here. Did you get the water bottle just for me?”

Leon taps his hand.

“Wow, thank you, Leon. That means a lot.” He pulls the box of tissues and the water bottle closer to the arm rest of the couch so he knows where they are. When he’s settled back against the couch, he holds out his hand.

“Listen, I wanna thank you again for doing this for me. I—I hate that it’s so much harder for people to help me these days but that’s my reality, ain’t it? But I know this ain’t what you normally do for people and I appreciate it.”

Leon tells him he’s happy to help.

Bucky smiles. “Thank you. By the way, did you close the door?”

Tap.

“Can Steve hear me at all?”

Rub, rub.

“You sure?”

Tap, tap, tap.

Bucky takes a breath. Except for talking to Natasha, he hasn’t had anybody he could talk to about Steve without Steve knowing about it. It’s actually a nice feeling.

He tells that to Leon. “Well, I don’t mean it’s a nice feeling cause Steve’s smothering me, but it’s been a little different always having Steve in my business. He’s always been in most of my business, but I used to have more choice about letting him into it. I don’t—I don’t mind and I’m used to it, but—it’s just been different.”

Leon tells him he understands. Talking to Leon is another step forward in Bucky’s quest for independence. Wanting to be independent doesn’t mean he wants to get away from Steve.

Bucky smiles. “Yeah! That’s what I was trying to say. I was saying it badly, but that’s what I was getting at. I’ve liked you from day one, you know that? You really seem to understand Steve so I think you’ll be able to understand me too.”

Leon thanks him and says he hopes he’ll be successful at bonding with Bucky too.

“Oh, I’m much easier to deal with than Rogers. But the fact that you’re getting through to Steve is a miracle. You’ve helped him a lot.”

Leon asks him if that means Steve complains about him.

He laughs. “Does Steve complain about you? Oh, yeah. Constantly. But I’m fluent in ‘Rogers-Complaints’. You gotta learn to listen to what’s behind the rant. His ma was the same.”

Leon tells him he was very happy to hear they had visited Sarah’s grave together.

Bucky smiles softly. “Yeah. It was real nice visiting Mrs. R’s grave. A bit cold, but real nice. We’re gonna go back more often when it’s warmer.”

Leon tells him that’s a great idea.

Bucky decides that’s enough of the small talk. These sessions are damn expensive and he has work to do. “So, can I ask questions about Steve?”

Leon’s fingers hesitate. He tells Bucky the things he discusses with Steve in his sessions are confidential, just like Bucky’s sessions with Leon. If they want to have sessions together, they can do that.

“No, no, I know Steve’s sessions are confidential. I don’t mean I want details about his sessions. He tells me that stuff anyway. I wanna ask how he feels about some things.”

Leon tells him to go ahead and ask. If it’s a question that Leon isn’t comfortable answering, they can do a joint session with Steve at some point.

Bucky takes a deep breath. There’s been one question that’s been stuck in the back of his mind since he’d come home from the hospital. He’s pretty sure he knows the answer, but there’s always been that tiny bit of doubt sitting there.

“Does…is Steve…how angry is he about the surgery? About my decision?”

Leon asks him why he thinks Steve would be angry about it.

Bucky narrows his eyes. He should have expected this. Steve’s warned him that Leon sometimes answers questions with his own questions. Sam’s told them it’s an effective therapy technique. Well it may be effective, but it’s still damn annoying. “Why do I think Steve’s angry? Well, I asked you a question first.”

Leon tells him he asked second.

Then his fingers stop moving.

Bucky feels a smile tugging on the corners of his lips. “You did ask second, didn’t you? You’re a bit of a rascal, aren’t you, sir? Will you promise to answer my question after I answer yours?”

Tap, tap.

“I know Steve’s angry about the surgery, but he always says he’s upset because of the choice I had to make, not because of the actual choice. I don’t really believe him.”

W-H-Y

Question mark.

Bucky makes a face. “Why? Because I’m a burden now. This ain’t a temporary thing. I need help all the time with so many things.”

Leon points out he doesn’t need nearly as much help as he did when he first came home.

“It _is_ true that I don’t need as much help these days, but the amount of help I needed back then was ridiculous anyway. I mean, if it had stayed that bad, I’m sure Steve would have reached the end of his rope real quick. I couldn’t even feed myself or go to the bathroom alone. But the more I’m learning how to do, the more I’m seeing that there’s always gonna be some things I need help with. I ain’t ever gonna be able to walk anywhere on my own, am I?”

Leon asks him why not.

He can feel that Leon is getting more comfortable with things and is settling into spelling. He decides to stop para-phrasing him for now. Bucky will figure it out if he’s not understanding him.

Then he considers the man’s earlier question, which makes him roll his eyes. “Why not? Because it’s way too hard. I wouldn’t know where I’m going, where I am, and crossing streets is way too dangerous.”

Leon asks him if needing help is the same as being a burden.

Bucky noticed that Leon has conveniently changed the topic of conversation. He has no idea if Leon agrees with his assessment that walking on his own is way too hard, but that’s a topic for another day. It’s too damn depressing to spend too much time dwelling on it.

He focuses on what Leon asked him. “If somebody needs help all the time, then yeah, that gets annoying.”

Leon wants to know if the annoyance is big enough to label it a burden.

“How the hell should I know? Steve’s the one helping me. I have no idea what he thinks about it.”

Leon disagrees. He thinks Bucky has a very, very good idea of how Steve feels.

“What? I’m the cripple, not Steve.”

Bucky feels Leon’s fingers freeze. Oh, oh. “What? What’s wrong?”

D-I-S-A-B-L-E-D.

“What? Disabled? What does that mean?”

According to Leon, that’s the respectful way of referring to anybody who has a mental or physical impairment.

“Oh. You don’t use the word cripple anymore?”

Rub, rub.

Well, shit. Why the hell didn’t Rogers tell him that? Damn it. Steve has taught Bucky all kinds of new words and phrases over the last few months—and last night he’d learned what the term ‘bisexual’ means—but it seems that they still have a lot more to learn to catch up to the 21st century.

Bucky cringes. “Sorry, Leon. I didn’t know. Rogers told me we ain’t supposed to use the word ‘retarded’ anymore and I ain’t comfortable using ‘moron’ the casual way people use it today, but he didn’t mention nothing about ‘cripple’. What’s the right word again? ‘Disabled’?”

Tap, tap.

“So does that only apply to my arm or the other things too?”

Any mental or physical impairment.

“Okay, I see. Sorry, let me try again. Back to what we were talking about: I’m the disabled one, not Steve.”

Leon points out that _now_ Bucky is the disabled one, but their roles used to be reversed, didn’t they?

“Steve got sick often, but that ain’t the same thing. The other stuff—his asthma, his back, his bad eyes, his ear—none of that made him as helpless as I am now.”

Leon says Steve may have had different disabilities and some of them may not have been a constant presence in his life, but Steve did need plenty of help back before the serum, didn’t he?

“Of course he did. So?”

Did Bucky ever consider Steve a burden?

“What? Of course not! Steve just needed more help from time to time. Sometimes he couldn’t hear the teacher so good, or he’d get sick and couldn’t feed himself or get to the bathroom. So what? That don’t mean he was a burden.”

So Bucky never, ever got annoyed with Steve? Even for a minute?

Bucky’s about to retort that of course he’s never gotten annoyed with taking care of Steve when he needed help. That’s just how things were.

But…well, if he’s going to be honest, then yes, he did get annoyed with Steve from time to time.

“I guess once or twice.”

Leon asks him if he’s comfortable sharing one of those memories.

“It ain’t pretty, I’ll warn you now.” He takes a deep breath. It’s been a long time since he’s thought about this memory and it’s not one he’s ever bothered sharing with Steve. “Steve was sick one time and it was after Mrs. R had passed away, so it was just me taking care of him. He’d thrown up on himself and I cleaned him up and then I got a bowl of soup to feed him. And he ate some of the soup and then…then he threw up _again_ all over himself, and me and the damn soup.”

Bucky smiles ruefully at the memory. At the time, he hadn’t been smiling.

At all.

Thank God he’d been wearing a mask—a habit Mrs. R had drilled into him since he was old enough to help take care of Steve—because Steve had managed to get some on Bucky’s face too.

Leon asks him how he’d felt immediately after it had happened.

“I—I’ll admit, I was angry, yeah. I just…I was exhausted. I’d been awake for nearly two days, caring for Steve and running to work when our neighbor could watch him for a few hours. I used all the money we had to get Steve the medicine he needed and I’d made that soup with the last scraps of food we had. I was gonna feed it to Steve a little at a time and make it last, but then he threw up in it so I had to get rid of it. Plus I had to clean him up _again_. I’d just washed the shirt and the blanket he’d thrown up on so they were still drying, and now I had to wash the only other blanket we had, Steve’s only other shirt and the stupid mask, so I knew we’d both be cold at night. Well, I gave Steve most of my clothes so he was warmer than me, but the stupid fever made him think he was cold anyway.”

Bucky takes a deep breath. He can feel the emotions from that day coming back. He feels the panic, the anxiety, the helplessness deep in his gut.

Leon asks him if he’s alright.

“Yeah. Yeah, I am. Just—I felt a lot of things that day. It was a lot.”

Leon asks him to describe the emotions.

“Fear, anxiety, panic, helplessness, exhaustion.”

That’s it?

“Yeah, that’s it. Trust me, that was enough. Oh, and a little annoyance. I knew Steve couldn’t help it but for one tiny second, I was annoyed.”

Were you angry, Leon asks him.

“Yeah. Well, no, not really. I was feeling so many things that it turned into anger, I guess. I yelled and I threw the bowl of soup against the wall.”

Did he think of Steve as a burden?

“No! Of course not! I was just a little annoyed with him. That ain’t the same thing as thinking somebody’s a burden. A burden’s something that just hangs off your back and you wanna get rid of it, but you can’t. That ain’t—that ain’t ever what taking care of Steve was like for me.”

So does Bucky truly believe that Steve thinks taking care of Bucky is a burden?

“He does get annoyed about it.”

When’s the last time Steve got annoyed about it?

Bucky opens his mouth to give a quick reply, but he actually can’t come up with something right away. The only time Steve’s gotten really annoyed with things was when Bucky had first come home and couldn’t tell the difference between night and day and Steve had gotten badly sleep deprived.

He considers that maybe it was like that day when Steve had thrown up on himself, but their roles had reversed.

Maybe Steve hadn’t even been annoyed with Bucky about the door-checking thing, but he was overwhelmed, exhausted and scared, and those had turned into annoyance.

“I guess he hasn’t gotten annoyed that often. I just remember one time and it was a while ago.”

Leon asks him if he’s shown such little annoyance, how can Steve think of Bucky as a burden?

“Well maybe he ain’t telling me everything.”

Didn’t they agree to be honest about such things? Didn’t they agree not to have a Pickerton situation?

“You know, I never realized this ‘sharing a therapist’ thing meant that you already know way more about my life than I think you do. Anyway, yeah…we did.”

But even if Bucky isn’t 100% sure that Steve is being honest about how he feels, does Bucky think he wouldn’t know if Steve were so tired of him?

“The punk keeps things from me all the time. He’s doing it less these days, but sometimes he still does it.”

You know him better than that, Leon points out.

Bucky chews on his lip. “Yeah, that’s true.” If Steve were really at the end of his rope and thinking of Bucky as a burden, he wouldn’t be able to hide it so well. Bucky would be able to feel it from his body language.

Leon wants to know if there have been any signs.

Bucky shakes his head. “No. Not since that day-night thing.”

Leon gives his hand a squeeze. He can’t speak for Steve, but he’s sure that Steve feels the same way about taking care of Bucky as Bucky did taking care of Steve for all those years. Despite the many difficulties, didn’t Bucky think it was worth it?

The answer to that doesn’t need to be thought over. “Of course. Of _course_ it was worth it.”

Leon points out Bucky has all the evidence he needs to answer his original questions by himself. Besides, Steve has been working on communicating better, hasn’t he?

“Yeah, yeah he has.”

Bucky thinks it over.

Steve _does_ seem happy with the way things are. Bucky tries to be as independent as he can be, but even when Steve is helping him with things which they both thought Bucky would be able to do by himself by now, Steve never seems annoyed about it. Neither does he seem excited about being able to help Bucky—which would be a little weird—but he’s just…normal about it. His body language is never tense, never overly excited. He just helps Bucky because…

…because it’s the way things are. Because that’s what they do.

It’s not a burden, nor is it something that Steve takes pride in or keeps track of so he can ask for favors in return at a later date.

It’s just…the way things are. It’s the way things have always been between them.

That small voice in the back of his head slowly falls silent. No doubt it will start chattering again, but when it does, Bucky thinks he knows how to make it shut up.

Leon tells Bucky to have some water and take a few minutes to process what they talked about, then they’ll move on. Bucky grabs the water bottle and relaxes against the couch. He really does feel better.

When he’s ready to resume, Leon tells him he’d like to talk about how Bucky feels about his disabilities.

“What do you mean ‘how I feel about them’? I don’t love ‘em, that’s for sure. But there’s no point in being mad about it. I can’t change it. You know about the contract.”

Tap, tap. Leon clarifies that he wants Bucky to talk about how he’s processed the permanence of his disabilities.

“I—I don’t know. I just have.”

Leon wants to know how his thinking about his individual disabilities has changed over time, if they have.

“Oh, I see. Well, losing my sight was the worst part when it first happened. I barely even noticed I was missing my arm, and not being able to hear wasn’t so weird at first. I think it’s cause if you can’t hear nothing, then you think there’s nothing to hear, but if you can’t see and you know it’s daytime and you should be seeing things, that’s a weird feeling.”

Leon wants to know more about that.

“When I woke up in the hospital, I thought everything was fine. I thought it was night time and the hospital was real quiet. Then somebody touched me and that’s when I realized: ‘Oh, my God! It ain’t night time and it probably ain’t quiet ‘round here!’ But the lack of noise wasn’t the big one. That didn’t scare me. It would have been nice to hear so I could get more information about what was around me, but I wasn’t thinking about that. Not being able to see—that was terrifying. I didn’t know who was in the room with me. I didn’t know if somebody was gonna touch me or hurt me, or if I was gonna fall off the bed. I didn’t know where anything was. That—that was real scary.”

Now that he’s on a roll, he keeps talking. The words are just pouring out of him. He realizes he’s never talked to Steve about this and he realizes he actually likes putting those thoughts and emotions into words.

He tells Leon how frightening and cold the darkness was. No matter how hard he stared into it or how hard he concentrated, there was no light to guide his way or reassure him. There was just darkness.

Walking was even worse. He didn’t know if he’d trip over things or smack his shins into something. He could be walking off the edge of a cliff without knowing. Of course, that was silly. There was no cliff in the hospital and there’s no cliff at home in the apartment, but his silly brain had been running on fear and panic and not much else in those early days.

He doesn’t remember a lot of details about those first days. Thank God for Steve because Bucky doesn’t remember eating, getting dressed, bathing, going to the bathroom—and he knows he must have been doing those things, but his brain sure wasn’t participating much. Steve had pushed aside the overwhelming shock and fear he must have felt in order to keep both of them alive and moving forward.

Bucky does remember how terrifying the darkness had been. The fact that he couldn’t hear was a little frightening, but not as frightening as the lack of sight. He remembers how confused and panicked he’d felt when he couldn’t understand what Steve was saying, but he’d figure out pretty quickly that asking yes/no questions would allow them to communicate. His brain had been so consumed with fear and struggling to deal with his new reality that he couldn’t process big, complex conversations anyway. Being able to ask basic questions and get a response went a long way to making him disregard his lack of hearing.

It was only when he and Steve were in bed that the lack of hearing was just as terrifying as his lack of vision. But after Steve had re-arranged the bedroom to put the bed up against the wall, put up the pillow wall and installed the motion sensor on the doors and windows, some of the panic had faded.

“Once I got the cane, things got even better. When I learned where everything was, I started seeing things in my mind. I made a map of how things looked in the apartment and where things were and it was almost like I could see those things. When I touch the table, I can see what it looks like and where it is. When I touch Steve, I can see what he’s wearing and what his hair looks like and what kind of face he’s making. Maybe some of what I’m picturing ain’t right, but it don’t matter. I ain’t seeing darkness in my head, I’m seeing things that are around me and that’s what important. That helped a lot in those early days. The darkness got less scary and my brain wasn’t full of fear anymore. But then—”

Then the reality of his situation had started setting in.

“I thought—I thought I’d find something that could replace my hearing the same way that the cane and my hand replaced my eyes. But I realized that ain’t gonna happen. That—that’s real tough.”

He takes a deep breath. He can feel his throat getting tight and he feels that familiar grief settling around him. “I miss hearing people’s voices. Especially Steve’s. Even if I touch his lips and he tells me what he’s saying so I can connect it with the memory of his voice in my head, it ain’t really the same thing.”

He blinks hard, tears having filled his eyes and he struggles to keep talking. He wants to get these words out. They’re things he doesn’t want to tell Steve because they’ll only cause him as much pain and grief as they cause Bucky. But he wants to tell somebody.

“I’m so scared that one day I ain’t gonna remember what Steve’s voice sounds like. I’ll just hear a generic voice in my head when he’s spelling or when I’m touching his lips, and I’ll know in my heart that it ain’t what Steve really sounds like, and I won’t have any way of getting the real sound of his voice back. That terrifies me. If I forget what something looks like, I can just touch it, but with my hearing? I can’t even use music or other sounds to use as references. I—look, I know. I’m fussing about something that might never happen. Maybe I won’t ever forget Steve’s voice. God, I really, _really_ hope so—but just the thought that one day I won’t hear his voice in my head—it—it—” That’s when his throat gets too tight to keep talking and he has to stop. Tears are streaming down his face and he fumbles his hand for the box of tissues.

He can’t find it fast enough, but suddenly, something is placed in his lap and he realizes it’s the box of tissues.

“Thank you,” he mumbles through his tears, wiping his face with the tissues. He needs to take several breaths before he can continue. “I know it don’t really matter in the bigger scheme of things. I’d still have Steve, which is most important, but having his voice in my head—that matters to me. It really, really matters to me and I get real scared that I might lose that,” he chokes out, barely managing to make his lips form the words. He hopes Leon can understand what he’s saying.

A hand touches his knee and he startles from the sudden contact. He touches the hand and feels for the bracelet. No bracelet. It has to be Leon.

“L-Leon?” He asks in between sobs.

The hand gently taps his knee. Of course, it makes sense it’s Leon. He wouldn’t allow anybody else—even Steve—to come in without telling him. But Bucky’s brain is too focused on being sad right now to use lots of logic.

“I’m okay. I’m…it’s just hard,” he whispers, wiping at the tears streaming down his face. “I really miss hearing sounds, not just Stevie’s voice. The transducers Steve put in the couch are great when we’re watching television, but they ain’t the same thing. Not at all. I have to rely on my memories to fill in the sounds and that’s gonna get harder over time. With my sight, not seeing colors don’t bother me and I can touch things to know what they look like, but sounds are so much harder. If I forget what something sounds like, then I’ve lost it forever. I ain’t ever gonna hear it again. That—that’s tough.”

His face crumbles again and a fresh wave of tears come. “I’m—I’m sorry ‘bout this. I don’t like talking to Steve about this cause it just makes him sad. I don’t even like thinking about it cause it makes me sad too.”

Leon squeezes his knee firmly. That’s hopefully his way of telling Bucky he can talk about it to Leon as much as he wants. Bucky’s clutching a wad of filthy tissues in his hand so Leon can’t talk to him right now.

Bucky blows his nose and takes a few deep breaths to calm down. “What else did you ask me? Oh, my arm! I forgot about my arm.” That makes him smile. It’s a shaky, thin smile, but it’s a smile. “That’s actually how I feel about my arm most days. I always forget it ain’t there until I’m doing something that needs two hands…and then I remember. Honestly, my arm’s been an annoyance, but not a huge one. I miss my left arm, sure, but not having it ain’t such a big deal. If I were just missing my left arm and had everything else working right, I’m sure it would be a bigger deal, but these days, it ain’t my top priority.”

He takes a deep breath and wipes the leftover tears off his cheeks with the back of his hand. “I do miss all of it. My vision, my hearing, my left arm. But I don’t see the point of dwelling on it, you know? There ain’t nothing I can do about any of it. I miss them and I wish things had been different, but they ain’t. And no matter what happens or how bad of a day I have, this life is better than spending the rest of my days sitting in a prison. Out here, at least I can live life. Sometimes it’s a bit of a slow life or a frustrating life, but that’s okay. Those days are balanced out by the good days where I learn how to do new things or when Steve and I have fun together. And Stevie—Stevie makes every day worth it. He—he works so hard to make things good for me and he’s just amazing.”

He shoves the crumbled tissues under his thigh and gets some fresh ones to wipe his face properly.

When that tissue is stuffed under his thigh too, he pulls a small pack of disinfectant wipes out of his pants pocket. It’s got a handy snap lid so he can tug one out and wipe his hand so Leon doesn’t have to spell on his snotty hand. While Bucky and Steve don’t care about swapping germs these days—it’s a very nice change from their early years when Bucky had to be extra careful about not getting Steve sick—it’s rude to subject a stranger to spelling on his grimy hand.

While he’s letting his hand air-dry, he manages a small smile. “Did that answer your question about how I think about my disabilities? I’m still not sure if that’s what you were asking.”

Leon taps on his knee. Bucky feels him take his hand, give it a gentle squeeze and then he slowly starts spelling. Leon’s spelling even slower than before, which Bucky appreciates. His brain is still a bit sad and slow right now.

Leon tells him that he thinks Bucky is one of the strongest, bravest and most incredible people he’s ever met.

That leaves Bucky speechless. “I—really?” Bucky frowns in Leon’s direction, doubting his sincerity. “I ain’t anyone special. There are tons of cripples—sorry, _disabled_ people in the world.”

Tap. But not all of them have to deal with the types of disabilities he has to deal with, and many of them let the fear of the darkness and the silence overwhelm them and never fight back. They allow the frustration and unfairness of the situation drag them into a pit of despair and anger which is hard to climb out of.

But Bucky hasn’t done that. He has fought every step of the way and he’s continuing to fight every single day. He’s striving to increase his independence each day, he’s conquering obstacles one step at a time and he’s facing his fears head on every second of the day. He has an incredibly positive attitude about life and that will continue allowing him to reach new heights despite the limitations he’s dealing with.

Bucky feels himself blush and a bashful smile creeps over his face. “I—wow, thank you, Leon.”

He’s used to Steve praising him, but he knows Steve is highly biased when it comes to assessing Bucky’s progress in life.

It’s really, really nice to have a stranger tell him he’s doing okay.

*             *             *

Steve is typing on his laptop, finishing a report for work when the door to Leon’s office opens and Leon comes out, guiding Bucky, who’s sweeping his cane back and forth as they walk towards Steve.

Steve’s eyes immediately go to Bucky’s face to see how things went. Bucky’s eyes are puffy and red, clear signs he’s been crying, but he’s got that little half-smile on his face he gets when people praise him about something that’s really important to him.

That’s a good sign.

“Hey, you two.” He puts his laptop down and heads towards them, gently touching Bucky’s hand. Bucky startles and feels Steve’s hand and his wrist, touching the bracelet. “Hey, Stevie. You get lots of work done?”

Steve laughs. “Yes, sir.” He taps Bucky’s hand and squeezes his hand. He asks him if he’s okay. He doesn’t ask it out-loud and he does the signals when Bucky’s hand is upside down so Leon can’t see.

Bucky smiles. It’s not a huge smile, but a content smile. “I’m fine. It went real well. Ask Leon what he thinks.”

Steve glances at Leon. “Is he okay? He got upset, I can tell.”

Leon smiles. “He’s fine. This boy of yours is a very tough, very brave man.”

Steve smiles, pride glowing in his chest. “Oh, believe me, I know.” He squeezes Bucky’s hand and spells out ‘He’s proud of you’ on his hand. Bucky blushes, finds Steve’s shirt and steps closer to Steve so he can press his face against his shoulder, squishing the cane between them.

Chuckling, Steve wraps his arms around him. “He’s always been shy about getting praised,” he says, kissing Bucky’s hair and rubbing his back.

Leon is smiling at them. “He did very well for his first session.”

“He’s easier to deal with than me, isn’t he?”

“By leaps and bounds.”

Steve laughs. “I told you, didn’t I? So you really thought things went well? I mean, with the spelling and all that?”

Leon nods. “It’s not a problem. He’s very good at catching on and filling in blanks.”

Steve’s heart is glowing. Not only does Bucky now have a therapist, but it looks like he’s found a new friend too.

*             *             *

Steve tells Bucky he’s proud of him about a million times on the way home. Anytime Bucky’s hand isn’t holding his cane, Steve is spelling ‘proud’ on his hand and squeezing it.

Bucky knows he’s blushing horribly and he can’t stop smiling and cuddling up to Steve when they’re on the train home.

It was a very, very good session and he’s looking forward to going back.


	72. Chapter 72

Bucky spends the next few days thinking over what else he wants to talk to Leon about. He doesn’t want to waste money and Leon’s time by going if he doesn’t have something specific to discuss. When he finds himself getting irrationally annoyed at Steve when Steve asks him if he wants to play bingo, Bucky realizes he knows what he wants to talk to Leon about.

“So I’ve been having these moods lately. I ain’t normally a grumpy twit, but I’ve been getting into these moods.”

Leon reminds him that everybody is allowed to have an off day here and there.

“Sure. But I don’t usually feel this…annoyed with things. Maybe I ain’t as enthusiastic about things as I normally am, but I don’t usually make such a fuss.”

Leon wants him to give specific examples.

“Well, like the ASL fingerspelling. It ain’t that hard and even if I like the BSL version better, I understand that it’s good to learn something that many people around me know. But I just…I get annoyed when I’m even thinking about it. Oh, and braille learning is annoying me too. That’s something I really don’t understand. The idea of reading again should be exciting and thrilling, but I’m just…ambivalent about it. Moody. It feels like a chore that I have to do. Maybe it’s cause of the fight Steve and I had when he told me about it, but we’ve moved past that.”

Leon reminds him that he’s still in the very early stages of both braille learning and ASL learning. If he were fluent at both, then he’d be able to use them to do fun and useful things. Right now, he’s in the learning stages.

“I know, but I should be more excited about learning braille. I don’t get why I’m annoyed about it.”

Squeezing Bucky’s hand, Leon tells him he thinks Bucky’s moods have nothing to do with braille, ASL fingerspelling or any of the other specific situations that annoy him.

“Then what’s annoying me? Cause I’m telling you—I ain’t normally this grumpy about life in general. Rogers is the one who has bigger moods.”

Leon tells him he thinks his moods are a result of how far he’s come since the surgery.

“Shouldn’t that mean I’m feeling better about things? But I’m getting grumpier, not happier.”

According to Leon, it’s not that simple. Bucky wasn’t born with his disabilities, nor did he develop them at an early age. He’d spent decades living with his sight, hearing and the use of all his limbs. He’d been able to participate fully in society and any limitations he faced weren’t a result of any physical shortcomings, but they were due to external factors, like poverty, his family situation and the economy.

In a way, Bucky used to have a pair of wings on his back. The wings were strong, dependable and allowed Bucky to soar to the same heights that others around him did. He knew how to use his wings to accomplish most tasks that he set out to do.

Then out of nowhere, he lost his wings overnight. They were torn off, leaving him grounded.

Once Bucky had recovered from the initial physical shock of having his wings taken from him, his wings had slowly started to re-grow. Bucky and Steve had been very careful with the small, fragile wings as they grew. They’d moved through their days very slowly and carefully, and focused all their attention on protecting the new wings and allowing them to grow at their own pace.

Bucky smiles. He likes this analogy. While it isn’t overly realistic—since Bucky won’t ever get his sight or hearing back—it still works. The adaptations he’s learning and using—like tactile spelling, his cane, braille—are all part of his new wings. “And even when I bumped into something and hurt the new wings, Steve was there to help me.”

Leon taps his hand. Yes, he was. Steve was even more protective over the wings in the early days than Bucky was, since Bucky didn’t realize what dangers lurked around him.

Now, the wings have finished growing and Bucky is starting to re-learn how to fly. But that’s where his frustrations come from, because he’s realizing that everything about these new wings is different. He has to re-learn everything that he once knew how to do. The smallest task is now big and complicated due to Bucky having to use new wings that work completely different than the old ones did.

Bucky is very determined to get his independence back and to fly to the same heights he used to reach, but it’s more frustrating and more difficult than he thought it would be. Leon thinks that’s where the frustration is coming from.

Bucky may not even be finding specific tasks frustrating, but he’s at the stage in his recovery where he’s becoming more acutely aware of his new limitations. He wants to re-learn how to fly as quickly as possible and it’s understandable that he’s getting frustrated due to the process involving a lot of trial and error, and patience.

But Leon thinks that overall, this is all a good thing.

“A good thing? How? I don’t like being a grumpy twit all the time.”

Leon points out that if Bucky were less confident in his own abilities and what levels he could reach, then he wouldn’t always be learning new things and trying to do new tasks. Not trying so hard would mean there’s less frustration for him to deal with, but that approach would severely impact his mental health.

It’s very easy for disabled individuals to fall into a pit of despair, and a lack of confidence and support can easily keep them in that pit. But thankfully, Bucky has both good confidence and good support, so he’s always striving to reach new goals.

“So will this grumpiness fade?”

Tap, tap. Leon believes a lot of Bucky’s frustration at the moment is connected to braille and ASL fingerspelling. He’d gotten comfortable using a specific communication system and he thought he was ready to take off with it…so finding out that he learned a system that most others don’t know was a blow to him. The fact that learning braille isn’t a simple process is only adding to his list of current difficulties.

But Leon has no doubt that Bucky will feel better once he’s moved a bit further along in his quest for independence. Because Leon has no doubt that Bucky will one day be flying again.

Bucky snorts. “Oh, I know. And even on those few days where I’m doubting myself, Steve won’t let me get stuck there. He’ll do the believing for both of us until I’m feeling better.”

Relaxing against the couch, Bucky smiles. He does feel a lot better about the situation. Knowing that his grumpiness is just a result of his own impatience makes it understandable. “So is the grumpiness gonna stop?”

Leon’s fingers hesitate for a moment. Then: Tap, rub.

Then Leon elaborates: Bucky will probably continue having periods of frustration and annoyance, but there are two things he must do to avoid letting the grumpiness win and pull him into that pit. The first is to always be moving forward. Even if he’s moving slowly or switches to a different path. He shouldn’t allow himself to get stuck.

Bucky nods. He can do that. “And let me guess what the second thing is: apologize to Steve from time to time and remind him that my mood ain’t about him?”

Tap, tap.

*             *             *

When they’re back home and lying on the couch and Bucky tells Steve about Leon’s wing analogy and explains the reason behind his recent mood swings, Steve feels a rush of relief. He’d been so confused over Bucky’s weird attitude regarding braille and Bucky’s own confusion regarding his attitude that Steve had been on the verge of asking Leon about it too.

But Leon’s analysis makes a lot of sense. Just like Bucky’s grief over his disabilities, his realization that his new wings will always work differently and will require a lot of work was bound to come up at some point. Now it has, and it seems Leon’s words have calmed Bucky down considerably.

“Well, I’m glad it ain’t something permanent. You not being able to fly’s temporary and the whole world knows it. You’ll be back up there in no time. We just gotta be patient and spend time carefully figuring out how to use the new wings, right?”

Bucky’s lying against Steve’s chest and he cranes his neck up so Steve can see his bashful half-smile. “Have I told you it means the world to me that you always believe in me?”

Steve smiles. He brushes his finger over Bucky’s lips to announce his intentions, then leans down and kisses him. They exchange soft kisses and Steve brushes his nose against Bucky’s as he gropes for Bucky’s hand so he can keep spelling.

Once he’s found his hand, Steve leans back against the couch. “Buck, there’s no ‘believing’ involved in that. That’s like asking me if I _believe_ that the sky’s blue. The idea that you’ll fly again and do amazing things—that’s a fact of life. And anybody who doubts that, they don’t know you, James Buchanan Barnes.”

Bucky blinks hard and that smile gets bigger and less bashful.

Steve taps him on the nose and pulls Bucky’s hand to his lips. “I love you, Buck,” he says, enunciating each word carefully.

Bucky presses his face against Steve’s chest. “I love you too, Stevie,” he says, his voice rough.

*             *             *

His sessions with Leon have given Bucky a new burst of confidence. He’s been happy with the slow, careful path that Steve has chosen to take them on, but he wants to really start pushing himself.

Based on what Leon’s said so far, it seems he believes that Bucky’s new wings are ready to handle more. While Bucky realizes that pushing himself with mental tasks—like learning braille—won’t end well, he thinks it’s time he starts pushing himself physically again. He and Steve have spent a lot of time recently working on mental skills and he hasn’t been making a lot of strides forward physically.

The fact that Leon didn’t immediately agree with Bucky’s assessment that he might never be able to walk outside on his own gets him thinking.

What if Bucky’s been too quick to decide on his physical limitations? What if his new wings can take him higher and further than he originally thought?

What if there are things that could help him walk around outside without Steve’s help?

What if he could even cross streets on his own?

What if—what if he could get a _job_?

That last one grabs his attention and won’t let go.

He’s still been struggling with how inadequate he feels in his day-to-day life. Yes, he’s making progress with all sorts of things lately—learning braille is a huge step forward—but once again, it’s an activity that just keeps Bucky busy, but it’s not contributing to their household.

The more Bucky thinks about it, the more he loves that idea. Getting a job would be a perfect way to push himself physically and he wouldn’t have to deal with his feelings of inadequacy anymore.

Oh, he likes this idea! Yes, it’s definitely time to get a job.

He knows Steve will get very nervous and scared about the idea of Bucky working, so Bucky doesn’t bring it up immediately. He realizes he should discuss it with Leon first and get his input on how to talk to Steve about the issue. Leon had seemed on board with Bucky trying difficult new things—like walking around by himself—so he should be fully supportive of Bucky needing to find work.

As soon as he’s sitting on the couch during his next session and he’s finished shaking Leon’s hand, he gets right into it. “So I wanna talk about how to convince Steve that it’s time for me to find a job and that it’ll be safe and okay.”

Leon doesn’t reply immediately. Maybe he’s a bit taken aback by the sudden topic introduction. That’s understandable, so Bucky waits.

Leon asks him why he wants to work.

That’s a stupid question. “Because I gotta work. I don’t—that’s a dumb question. Working is just—you gotta work. Everybody’s gotta work and make money.”

Leon points out he and Steve have plenty of money and Steve is already working.

“Yeah. So? Money ain’t ever a sure thing unless you’ve got it in your own two hands. That money the military gave Steve could disappear any day. Steve could lose his job any time. The best way to stay safe is to make sure we’re both working as much as possible.”

Leon’s fingers aren’t moving. Bucky shifts, impatient. “So Steve’s gonna be real worried about me working and I wanna make sure I’ve figure out how I’m gonna convince him that I’ll be okay.”

The fingers resting against his palm finally start spelling. They ask what kind of work Bucky’s thinking of doing.

“Oh, I have no idea. I don’t know enough about today’s job market. Steve will have to help me research, but I ain’t fussy. As long as it puts money into my hands, that’s all that matters.”

Leon has fallen silent again.

“You ain’t falling asleep on me, are you?”

Rub, rub, rub. Leon apologizes for having fallen silent. He admits he doesn’t know enough about deafblindness and the modern job market. He has no idea what kind of jobs Bucky could do and what kind of concerns Steve would have about Bucky doing those jobs.

Bucky makes a face. “Okay. So we should research first and when we have some concrete options and Steve’s fussing about something in particular, then we can talk about it?”

Tap, tap, tap. Absolutely.

Then Leon changes the topic to something else, which is fine. Bucky will put his plans for getting back to work into motion as soon as his session is done.

*             *             *

When Bucky bursts out of the therapy session, practically leading Leon instead of the other way around, and declares that they have to go home and research job opportunities for him, Steve has no idea what to think.

He gapes at Bucky. “What?!” He exchanges a helpless look with Leon. “Where the hell did this come from? Did you tell Buck he has to work? You know that ain’t true.”

Leon gives him an apologetic smile. “Steve, you know I can’t discuss anything that Bucky and I spoke about in our session. You need to ask Bucky for more information. I’m sorry, but that’s how it has to be.”

“I—”

“Let’s go, Rogers. We gotta research.” Bucky’s walking away from them, heading in the direction of the front door. His cane smacks into a potted plant along the way and he smoothly steps around it.

Steve looks back and forth between them. He has no idea what to think or what to do.

_Job opportunities?!_

Leon holds up calming hands. “Have him fill you in on our session and then go from there.”

“I just don’t understand why he—”

“Hurry up, Rogers! We’re losing daylight,” Bucky calls over, having made his way to the front door. He’s got his hand on the door handle and the cane is dangling from the wrist strap.

 

*             *             *

“Just use the computer and come up with some options, Rogers. It ain’t hard!”

Actually, Bucky has no idea how difficult it is to use the computer, but he figures Steve’s had enough practice with it by now. He should be able to do it.

But Steve’s hands stay holding Bucky’s, and his chair doesn’t turn to face his computer. Bucky pulls his hand out of his grasp, finds Steve’s shoulder and pokes it impatiently. “Come on, let’s go. Use a—a—” What the hell is that thing called again?

Something with search. And it always makes him think of a train.

Oh, right!

“Use a search engine.”

Steve grabs his hand and tells him Bucky needs to be more specific. Steve can’t just look up ‘jobs’ and come up with a small list of options.

“How do you know? You didn’t even try it yet. Come on.”

Finally, he feels Steve pulls his hands back and when Bucky traces his arm, he finds his hands on the keyboard. Excellent. They’re moving forward…

…for about three seconds, until Steve’s grabbing his hand again.

He tells Bucky when he put the word ‘jobs’ into the search engine, it gave him 2 billion results.

Or he might have said trillion. Bucky lost track of how many double squeezes of his pinky finger Steve did to count out the zeroes.

2 _billion_? Well, shit.

Stupid search engine.

Steve again tells him that he needs to narrow it down. This is Bucky’s project and Steve is just his ears and eyes. He’ll collect information for him, but Bucky needs to figure out what topic to collect information about. Bucky needs to figure out what type of job he thinks he can do and then Steve can find more specific results.

“I ain’t fussy. Just pull up a list of job openings in Brooklyn right now and we’ll pick something from there.”

Steve gives his hand an impatient jostle. He says they need to be practical. There’s no point in looking at jobs that Bucky can’t do.

It’s on the tip of Bucky’s tongue to retort that he’s never been fussy about working—spending four summers mixing filled latrine pits proved that—and he’ll take whatever’s available…

…until he realizes it’s not that simple.

Life isn’t that simple for him anymore.

Finding a job when he had his sight, hearing and both arms was easy. But he’s not the same person he was back then, is he?

Slowly, Bucky pulls his hand out of Steve’s grasp.

This is gonna require more thought than he’d realized. “I need to think about this, Rogers. Give me some time. But I’ll think of something, don’t worry.”

He gets Maggie and sits on the couch to think. He gently pets Maggie and lets his brain start coming up with possibilities.

His first thought is doing manual labor. It’s what he’s done since he started doing the milk and bread deliveries at age eight. He’s never done work that wasn’t manual labor.

He thinks about his previous jobs: delivering bread and milk, sweeping sawdust at the icehouse, digging latrine pits, loading crates at the docks—

—and he realizes there’s no way he could do any of those jobs today. He can’t see what he’s doing and he’s only got one arm. He’d get himself killed in minutes. But all of that’s beside the point—he’d be ten times slower than everyone else and nobody would tolerate that.

Nobody in their right mind would have hired crippled— _disabled_ —Mr. Pickerton over Bucky back in the 30s. Just because Bucky’s the cripple now, the situation wouldn’t change.

Well, unless Steve helps him do the work, but that’s ridiculous.

So, no manual labor jobs. But that’s okay—except for the army, Steve’s never done manual labor jobs. Bucky could do one of Steve’s old jobs.

But when he starts thinking about Steve’s old jobs (working at the book shop, at the picture house, doing the USO tours) all required him to talk to customers…

…and having the customers talk to him.

Bucky can charm the pants off anybody, but that doesn’t help if nobody can talk to him. Most people don’t know any method of tactile communication. Unless Steve is there to interpret what they’re saying, Bucky can’t hold a conversation on his own.

So dealing with customers isn’t an option either.

But what about Steve’s current job?

That’s not manual labor and he doesn’t have to deal with customers often. He’s mostly on the computer.

“Steve? Can I learn how to use a computer? I can learn how to type on the keyboard with one hand, can’t I?”

He’s smart and he can work hard if he has to. He can learn how to type on the keyboard with one hand. He feels the couch dip and then Steve’s gently taking his hand and squeezing it.

That’s not a good sign.

Steve tells him that yes, Bucky could probably learn how to type on the keyboard but…

That’s when Steve fingers stop spelling.

“But what? If I can learn how to type on the keyboard, I can use the computer, right?”

Steve very hesitantly rubs the back of his hand.

Oh, oh.

Spelling slowly and regretfully, Steve tells him he can type on the keyboard, but he can’t see what’s on the computer screen.

 _Shit_. He completely forgot about that. For some reason, that makes him mad. His earlier excitement has completely vanished and now he’s starting to get annoyed. He’s such an idiot! Why the hell did he forget about that part?!

What kind of job requires somebody to bang on a keyboard aimlessly? Of course he needs to see what’s on the computer screen. That’s the whole point! You use the keyboard to put information into the computer and then the computer screen tells you what the result is. Steve’s explained it to him and it’s not that complicated so Bucky shouldn’t have forgotten that part. Damn it!

The only way he could use a computer is with Steve’s help.

His mind is now whirling, thinking up one job after another—factory worker, bookkeeper, cashier, lifeguard, waiter, receptionist—and none of them are things he could do.

Not even a little bit.

Not without Steve helping him. And that’s not an option. The whole point of this is for Bucky to work so he can bring in more money. If Steve’s going to work with Bucky, he has to quit his own job and they’re back to only having one income. That’s stupid.

His throat is getting tight and he can feel his breathing quicken. He realizes his jaw is clenched so tight that his teeth are aching.

That annoyance from earlier is starting to turn to panic and he’s getting a queasy feeling in his stomach.

What if—

What if—

What if he can’t _ever_ work? What if he has to spend the rest of his life sitting here, playing his silly games and doing his stupid art projects? That’s not—that’s not his life. That can’t be his life.

_That can’t be his life!_

Abruptly, he feels a weight being lifted from his lap. He realizes that was Maggie on her pillow. He’d completely forgotten about her. Jesus—he could have stood up, stepped on her and killed her!

What kind of moron is he?!

He can’t work and he can’t take care of Maggie and he can’t do anything useful. He feels tears welling up in his eyes and he wants to cry and scream and throw things all at the same time.

This isn’t okay. This isn’t okay _at all_.

He feels Steve grabbing his clenched hand and forcibly uncurling Bucky’s fingers. Steve tells him nobody’s expecting him to work and nobody needs him to work. They’ve got money and Steve’s wor—

Bucky yanks his hand out of his grasp. He glares in Steve’s direction. “You think that makes it okay?! You think because you and society acknowledge that I’m a useless cripple that I should be okay with that?! You think I should just accept the fact that I’m gonna be a freeloader the rest of my life? Well that ain’t happening! I’ve always pulled my weight! _Always_!”

Steve gently takes his hand back, squeezes it and Bucky feels a kiss pressed to it. All signs that Steve is trying to calm him down.

It just feels like Steve is patronizing him.

Fingers are gently spelling things on his palm.

Bucky wouldn’t be a freeloader, Steve says. Bucky helps him with so many—

That’s when he tears his hand out of Steve’s grasp again. The queasy feeling is being overrun by anger. “I know what you’re doing, Rogers! You’re just feeding me baloney, trying to make me accept this, but I won’t! I know what’s really going on here. You don’t think I can do it and you don’t even wanna try—and that’s a bunch of baloney!”

The anger is good. The anger helps make his stomach feel better and he doesn’t feel like he’s on the verge of tears anymore. And the anger is justified. Who the hell does Rogers think he is—not believing in him?!

“I’ve _always_ believed in you! Always! I’ve always supported you and fought for you and whenever somebody said you couldn’t do something, did I ever take their side? No! I defended you and stuck by your side. And now that I need you to do the same for me, you think it ain’t worth your time, so you’re giving me some hooey about me being too crippled to work?! What happened to ‘you not being able to fly’s temporary’, huh? That was easy to say when I didn’t have big plans, but now that I do, you think I should be happy staying on the ground?!”

He feels somebody touch his hand. Probably Steve, trying to talk to him. He smacks the hand away.

“I don’t wanna hear it! Jesus, Rogers! I’ve never given up on you! Never! And you throw in the towel when we’ve barely even gotten started?! Fuck you!”

He gets up, pushes past Steve’s legs, smacks at the hands trying to grab him and stumbles his way to the bedroom.

Because he’s upset and not paying attention, he ends up smacking into the table, and then running straight into the wall, but he manages to find the doorway, stumbles into the bedroom and shoves the door closed behind him.

He slides down the closed door, leaning against it so Steve can’t shove his way in.

The anger is still burning bright in his chest. He feels flushed and a bit lightheaded, but Steve deserved it. Who the hell does the punk think he is? After everything that Bucky’s done for him over the years, he can’t even bother trying to be supportive?!

Looks like Steve’s insistence that Bucky will fly again was just that—all talk.


	73. Chapter 73

After a few hours, Bucky’s calmed down enough to come out of the bedroom. He knows he’ll get angry all over again if he talks to Steve, but that’s the one good thing about his disabilities: if he doesn’t want to talk to Steve or listen to Steve, he doesn’t have to.

As soon as he comes back into the living room and sits down at the table, he feels a hand brushing against his, but he smacks it away. “Don’t touch me and don’t talk to me!”

He doesn’t want to spend time with Maggie when he’s angry like this, but that’s okay.

He’s a freeloader now so he doesn’t really have any responsibilities anyway. He’s a spoiled prince sitting in his castle. He can sit on his throne and snap his fingers and Steve will bring him food and anything else he wants. Steve has to work and take care of him, and Bucky is a fucking spoiled prince, who sits on his butt all day.

Right on cue, he smells food, and when he reaches out, he finds a plate of food in front of him.

The irony of the moment is crushing.

It makes him want to throw the plate across the room—but that means Steve will have to clean it up, while Bucky sits here on his throne. Tears fill his eyes and he wants to throw the plate and cry at the same time.

He’s _useless_. He’s completely useless and he’ll be useless for the rest of his life.

He’s a useless, freeloading cripple.

Eventually, he feels a hand touch his. The touch is very tentative. Now Bucky’s torn. He isn’t hungry, but it’s bad enough that he’s a useless cripple. By not eating what Steve made for him, he’s playing the part of the spoiled prince too. He doesn’t have to be both.

He pulls his hand away from Steve, finds his fork, figures out how his bowl is oriented and slowly starts eating. It doesn’t even matter what he’s eating, he just wants to finish what Steve made him.

Because Steve worked at his job at all day and then he cooked and cleaned and did computer research for Bucky.

And how did Bucky repay all that work? By yelling and saying horrible things and being rude. He’d even contemplated throwing the plate across the room!

He’s not just a useless, spoiled cripple, he’s also a horrible person.

The fork drops from his hand and he fumbles on his right, knowing Steve is standing somewhere nearby. He feels Steve’s pants and then finds his hand.

Because he’s on the verge of crying and he’s busy clenching his jaw to keep the tears at bay, he can’t use his voice right now. He steadies his shaking hand and spells out ‘S-O-R-R-Y’ on Steve’s palm.

Steve’s hand curls around his and gives it a gentle squeeze. His other hand slides around Bucky’s back and lightly strokes his back.

Bucky accused him of not supporting him and not believing in him—and every word of that had been a lie. This amazing man has always been his number one supporter for thirty years, and Bucky’s a jerk for having said those stupid things.

So in conclusion: Bucky is a useless, spoiled cripple who’s a horrible jerk.

“I’m sorry, Stevie,” he chokes out. “I didn’t mean what I said. You were trying to be kind and helpful and make things easy for me, and I threw that back in your face. I’m real sorry. Forgive me?”

He feels Steve shifting and when Steve moves his hands to Bucky’s knees, Bucky figures out he’s crouching down. The hands tap his knees repeatedly and then they’re gently holding Bucky’s face and kissing him.

Bucky’s hand is picked up and pressed against Steve’s lips.

‘I love you, Buck.’

Bucky sucks in a shaky breath. “I know. I know you do. And I’m sorry for saying those terrible things.”

Steve gently lays Bucky’s hand on his thigh and rubs his thumb over Bucky’s palm, giving him the chance to pull his hand away if he doesn’t want to listen.

Bucky figures he owes it to him to at least listen. “Go on.”

Steve reminds him that he knows what Bucky’s feeling. He spent decades not being able to do as much work as Bucky. Plus, whenever he was sick, he’d needed even more help. Bucky hadn’t just financially supported him, but he’d taken care of him too. Steve knows how frustrating that is, but—

That’s when Bucky pulls his hand away. “But nothing. I ain’t—That’s not okay for me. I ain’t just gonna give up on working. You never did, did you? When you weren’t on death’s doorstep, you were looking for work and taking anything that people gave you. You never stopped trying, and I ain’t gonna stop trying either. But I ain’t gonna take my anger out on you. That ain’t fair and it ain’t right and I ain’t gonna do that again. I’m real sorry.”

Steve presses a gentle kiss to Bucky’s palm.

Bucky’s forgiven, which is a small weight off his back.

That just leaves the big weight:

Doing the impossible and finding a job that he can do…or accepting that he’s gonna be a freeloader the rest of his life.

*             *             *

He can’t do it.

He can’t accept that this will be his life from now on. He can’t be a freeloader for the rest of his life.

That’s not a reality he can accept for himself.

His mind is busy grasping at straws, and finally he finds a possible solution. It might not be much, but it’s a little ray of hope:

The problem is that Bucky doesn’t know enough about today’s job market. There are probably tons of jobs a deafblind amputee can do these days. Don’t they have robots that can do things? Bucky could work with a robot. He could do part of the job, and the robot could do the other part. The employer wouldn’t be paying the robot, just Bucky, so it’s not the same as paying two people to do the job of one, right?

Right.

Yes, that would work.

But Bucky can’t do the research on his own, and Steve obviously hasn’t had any luck doing the research.

He needs assistance—and the best form of that assistance is Leon Powell.

*             *             *

It’s not a good sign that Leon’s fingers freeze the second Bucky tells him he needs his help finding a suitable job. Bucky thinks Leon’s confused, so he decides to clarify.

“The problem is that Steve don’t know enough about today’s job market either. It ain’t his fault. He’s spent most of his time since he came out of the ice running around being Captain America, right? And I know he’s good at using the computer, but maybe he ain’t doing the research right. I know there’s gotta be something out there that I can do, I just need help finding it.”

Leon’s fingers unfreeze enough for him to spell out:

‘W-H-Y’.

Question mark.

“Why what? Why do I need help? I can’t use a computer, Leon. I need somebody to help me with the computer research.”

Well, Bucky knows he’s gonna need a lot more help than that, but he thinks once Leon gets him on the right path, Steve will be back on board and they’ll get this figured out.

But Leon’s rubbing his hand over his palm, erasing his previous words. Bucky had misunderstood. He asks Bucky why he feels he needs to find a job.

Bucky sighs internally. Not externally, because that would be rude. What a stupid question! “Because having a job is real important. I don’t wanna just sit at home and be a spoiled little prince in my castle. That’s not something that’s gonna work for me.”

‘W-H-Y’.

Question mark.

Another internal sigh. “Look, I know we don’t need the extra money, but it’s the principle of the thing. Steve already does so much more than me in our daily lives. It ain’t fair for him to keep shouldering the whole load. I ain’t gonna let Steve keep supporting both of us while I sit there, playing with my games and doing my art projects. I ain’t gonna keep being a freeloader. That ain’t who I am.”

The earlier annoyance is seeping into his bones again. He’s getting irritated just thinking about how lopsided things have gotten.

Bucky Barnes: _Freeloader_.

Just the idea of it is revolting. And it’s actually become a reality!

It has to change. It has to change quickly. He’s not doing this for the rest of his life. He’s not going to live with the label ‘freeloader’ on his forehead for the rest of his life. That’s _not_ an option.

Leon asks if he truly believes Steve has been shouldering the entire load.

“Obviously! He works all day and then he does all the cooking and all the cleaning. I sit and play games.”

Leon points out Bucky provides Steve with a lot of emotional support. Plus, Bucky’s been very busy, hasn’t he? He’s been developing new skills, gaining more indepen—

Bucky’s heard enough. He pulls his hand away from Leon—he remembers his manners at the last second before he rips it away like he does with Steve—and gives Leon a tight smile.

He realizes it’s not a polite smile, but it’s the best he can manage when he’s getting angry again.

“That’s all very well and good, but it’s irrelevant,” he says, trying to unclench his jaw enough to get the words out. Hopefully Leon can understand him. “ _None_ of that means I’m pulling my own weight at home, so it don’t matter. If none of you are gonna help me get a job, then I guess I have no choice: I’m gonna be a useless freeloader the rest of my life.”

He’s on the verge of tears again, so he yanks his cane out and heads to the door. It takes an embarrassing amount of time to find the door knob, but thankfully Leon doesn’t interfere. Bucky finds the door knob and heads out.

When his cane smacks into a pair of soft things—shoes?—along the way, he tells Steve it’s time for them to go home.

“Leon wasn’t helpful at all,” he declares.

When they’re on the train, Steve demands to know what happened at the session.

Now that Bucky’s lost Leon as a possible ally, he has no choice but to convince Steve. Natasha is away on a mission and he’s got nobody else he can talk to. “I had a great idea but he didn’t even wanna listen to it.”

That’s not technically true, but Bucky doesn’t care.

Steve wants to know what the idea was. So Bucky tells him about the robot idea and the fact that they need to research today’s job market more thoroughly.

He’s hoping Steve will tell him that’s a great idea! That he’s so thrilled Bucky thought of it! That he’ll do research right away!

But he doesn’t say that. He tells him there are lots of robots doing jobs, but they don’t need to be paired with people. That’s the whole point: the robots do the work themselves. Instead of adding more jobs, the robots have taken jobs away. The only humans required in those factories are the ones who can fix the robots, and Bucky doesn’t have that kind of knowledge.

That’s…that’s…that’s not good. That’s not good at all. Bucky feels like he got punched in the face.

Just like that, his idea disintegrates into dust. His last hope—gone.

This leaves him with no options.

No choices.

No other pathways to go down.

Bucky Barnes: Freeloader.

That’s gonna be his reality for the rest of his life.

He wants to scream and cry at the same time. Not just because of how unfair it is or how ridiculous—but because he knows this is his fault.

His. Fault.

He’s the one who gave up his sight and hearing because he’s an idiot. He has no one to blame for being a useless cripple other than himself.

*             *             *

The situation doesn’t get any better, but at least Bucky is more conscious about keeping his temper in check for Steve’s sake. He can be angry at himself, that’s fine, but he doesn’t want to take out his anger on Steve. The poor man already has to put up with living with a freeloader, the least Bucky can do is not yell at him.

At first he ignores Maggie too, worried that he’ll drift off into sadness while he’s holding her and accidentally drop her or forget where she is.

But after a few days of only cleaning her cage and feeding her, but not actually interacting with her, Steve grabs his hand and tells him he needs to do a lot better. He’s not taking care of Maggie properly, and she needs and deserves to be properly taken care of.

“I’m taking care of her, Rogers. I’m cleaning her cage and feeding her, ain’t I?”

Steve tells him he knows she needs much more than that and Bucky knows it. She’s been eating less and ignoring all of her toys in her cage because she’s lonely and misses Bucky, and she doesn’t understand why Bucky’s ignoring her. Plus, Bucky doesn’t have the right to take his mood out on her when she depends on him.

“I’m worried I’ll hurt her.”

Then he needs to focus, Steve says. When he’s spending time with Maggie, he should focus completely on her and spend time playing with her and petting her, and then put her back into her cage.

‘But please, please don’t make her suffer because you’re sad. She deserves better than that, don’t she?’

Bucky swallows hard, guilt creeping up his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, she does.”

So he carefully takes Maggie out of her cage and spends a while sitting on the couch with her, petting her and talking to her softly. He doesn’t have enough energy to keep track of what he’s saying. He’s probably just mumbling nonsense, but he forces himself to pay attention to what his fingers are doing. This is Maggie’s time. He can’t be thinking about his own sad situation—he has to focus on her.

He takes her out of her cage twice a day to snuggle with her, and he keeps a better eye on how much she’s eating. Thankfully, she goes back to eating normally within a day, but she must sense that he’s still not in his usual mood because she stops climbing up on his finger when he puts his hand into her cage and she refuses to let him scratch her good cheek, nipping at his finger when he tries.

His anger comes and goes, constantly switching places with the crushing sadness. Every time he’s doing something useful—like eating or dressing himself or washing the dishes—he gets angry.

He hates being reminded that he can only do so few useful things. The difference between the things Steve does during the day compared to what Bucky does is infuriating. But he has no choice because he’s a useless, spoiled cripple, who nobody will hire to do anything.

And that’s when the sadness always replaces the anger.

It mostly happens when he’s doing an art project or something that doesn’t require a lot of thinking. His mind tends to wander, and it always seems to circle back to reminding him about how useless he is.

He doesn’t have the focus to practice braille, ASL fingerspelling or do anything that requires too much thinking. Just doing the simple chores he does each day exhausts him.

And isn’t that just pathetic?

Bucky barely does anything all day and he gets exhausted just from changing Maggie’s water bowl or pulling his shirt on. The tasks seem to take him longer than before and he keeps making stupid mistakes like filling the water bowl and then forgetting it’s full and dumping it all over himself.

Pathetic. Useless and pathetic.

He uses his exhaustion to his advantage. If he’s not needed for useful things anyway, what’s the point of spending hours walking around? It’s much better to spend more time in bed. When he’s in bed, he can face his pillow wall with a wad of tissues and he can quietly cry and feel sorry for himself without inconveniencing Steve.

As the days pass, he spends more time sulking in bed and he deliberately takes forever getting dressed or showering. What does it matter? He’s got nothing but time these days.

He has no desire to work on his art projects, his knitting project sits abandoned on the shelf and the less he practices braille, the more he forgets, so that’s a stupid activity too.

Steve keeps trying to cheer him up, but whenever Steve starts talking about Bucky’s lack of working being okay, how Bucky emotionally supporting him is amazing etc, it feels like he’s patronizing him. Bucky knows Steve is being completely sincere, but Bucky’s nowhere near being able to hear those things and think they’re okay.

When he finally snaps at Steve that he doesn’t want to hear anymore patronizing baloney, Steve changes tactics and avoids the issue.

He asks him what he wants to eat, if he’s in the mood to watch TV or a baseball game, if he wants to explore one of Steve’s new textured painting—but Bucky always turns him down or tells him he’s not interested.

He really isn’t.

Plus, the least he can do to make Steve’s life easy is by not being demanding and fussy. He doesn’t care what Steve makes him to eat, he’ll eat whatever’s put in front of him.

Steve tries offering him comfort when he’s crying in bed or sitting on the couch, doing nothing. But having Steve spend his time trying to make him feel better actually makes him feel worse. He feels guilty and even more useless when he’s forcing Steve to pay so much attention to him, on top of everything else he forces Steve to do for him.

So as soon as Steve touches him, he’ll tell him he’s okay, he’s fine, he doesn’t need Steve to worry about him.

One morning, Steve tries suggesting that Bucky might feel better if he exercises a little more. That just annoys Bucky and he forgets to be nice. “What the hell does it matter if I stay sad like this? Nothing’s gonna change! With you, if your head’s working right then you can do whatever you want. If my head’s working right, I’m still stuck being a deafblind cripple who sits around all day!”

*             *             *

Steve’s heart hasn’t stopped aching for days. It’s so difficult seeing Bucky in pain.

After days of watching Bucky be miserable and getting more and more miserable himself, Steve finally gives in and sits by the front door so he can cry without worrying over Bucky tripping over him.

He sits there, crying and miserable, while Bucky lies in bed, crying and miserable.

After he’s spent ten minutes crying and feeling sorry for both of them, it dawns on him that crying isn’t going to fix anything. This situation isn’t going to be solved if both of them let themselves drown in their misery. One of them has to push the tears aside, climb out of this pit and come up with a plan to move forward.

And Steve realizes it’s gotta be him. The sadness is sapping Bucky’s energy and focus too much for him to be able to find his way out of this problem. So Steve has to be the one to do it.

Not only is there no other option, but Steve owes it to him.

Bucky’s never given up on him. Never.

Steve can’t count how many times Bucky had gone to shop owners and argued on Steve’s behalf, pleading or threatening until they agreed to give Steve a job. He knows the Hartleys had only given him that job at their book shop because Bucky had secretly agreed to help unload the crates of new books once a week for no pay. Bucky has no idea that Steve knows about it. He’d made sure the unloading was done when Steve wasn’t there, and the Hartleys never told Steve. He’d only found out because he’d forgotten his scarf one day so he’d come back after his shift was over, and he’d overheard the Hartleys talking about it. To this day, Bucky has no idea that Steve knows.

It’s one of the many examples of what levels Bucky had gone to in order to help Steve accomplish the things that were important to him.

And there’s no way Steve isn’t going to do the same for Bucky now.

He wipes the tears off his cheeks, pushes himself off the ground and goes to sit at his work desk for a change of scenery and a really hard think.

Surely there’s some type of work that Bucky could do. His disabilities are all physical, not mental. He’s one of the smartest people Steve has ever known. He has no doubt that Bucky could learn whatever knowledge he’d need to do jobs that require brain work and not so much physical work.

But when he thinks about the type of work that he’s doing at the security company, or other knowledge-type jobs like being a teacher or a lawyer, he realizes it’s not realistic.

There’s that stupid issue about using a computer, and Bucky would need to spend years learning the knowledge he’d need. Steve knows the job market these days is just as competitive as it was back during the Depression. Without having the right skills and knowledge—which would take him years to learn—Bucky wouldn’t have any hope of getting hired.

So that’s not going to work. At least, it’s not an option for right now. If Bucky wants to learn new things, they can work on that, but Bucky wants to find work right now.

But wait—Bucky’s really good at doing the things he’s learned to do at home, isn’t he? He makes all sorts of neat craft projects and his knitting creations are wonderful and useful. Steve sits up straight.

What if—what if Bucky could sell some of the things he makes? He could work from home, he could set his own pace and he’s already good at doing those things.

…but Steve realizes quickly that it’s not that simple. Bucky would need lots of help if he’s going to run his own business. A lot of people sell things online, but Bucky can’t use the computer. Steve knows if Bucky went to one of those small craft fairs, people would buy things from him out of pity. He knows Bucky would know that and it would make him just as angry as it used to make Steve when their situation was reversed.

Whenever Steve couldn’t find steady work, he used to walk down to the river or wherever he knew he’d find big crowds and he’d sit on his upturned bucket with his little sign (Single Portraits – 3 cents; Multi-Person Portraits – 5 cents) and waited for customers. Most people would pass him by, but a few would stop. There were a few people he liked—mostly older couples who wanted him to draw them posing together. They were nice and friendly and appreciated the effort he put into the portrait.

But mostly he had to deal with mothers dragging half a dozen children up to him and demanding that he make them sit nice and do a drawing of all of them together. The mothers would stand behind him the entire time, criticizing every line he drew, insisting he was drawing the kids too ugly or too short or too fat. And at the end, they always— _always_ —only paid 3 cents, saying the work wasn’t worth any more than that.

But it was 3 cents that could go towards paying rent, so Steve would keep a smile on his face and hand over the sheet of his precious paper with the gaggle of kids drawn on it.

But none of those customers had bothered him more than the people who clearly looked at him with pity. They always assumed he was several years younger than he actually was and his baggy, worn clothes made him look even smaller and more frail. Those customers talked to each other as if Steve wasn’t even there or as if he couldn’t hear them (“Oh, Harold, look at this poor, little boy. He’s trying so hard to make a bit of money with his little paper and his little pencil. How about we let him scribble something for us and then we’ll give him a few pennies? That’ll brighten up his day, won’t it?”).

It never seemed to occur to them that Steve could hear them (just with one ear, but still), that he had a brain and that he actually had artistic talent. They just assumed he was a moron who had no skills or talents. The fact that they wanted to help him was fine, but the fact that they pitied him wasn’t. The worst part was that Steve couldn’t turn down the 5 cents (or more) that those people would offer him. But he did make damn sure they got a beautiful portrait to take home, and a lot of times he could see them re-assessing their initial opinion of him when they saw him sketching, but the whole experience rubbed Steve the wrong way.

And he knows Bucky would find it even harder, because Bucky does have amazing skills and talents, but they’re all done a bit differently these days than how other people would do them. Seeing Bucky doing his knitting might elicit more pity from people, rather than awe. And Steve knows Bucky would hate that.

Having people pity Bucky Barnes is a concept that’s so alien and wrong to Steve that he can’t even think about it without feeling confused.

All of that aside, it takes Bucky about a week to knit a hat. If he sells the hat for $15, that might have been a lot of money for a week’s work in the 30s, but it’s nothing now. Bucky would figure out pretty quickly that he’s not actually contributing very much money to their household and that would just annoy him.

So Steve is back to zero.

Bucky wants to contribute to their household in a meaningful way, and there aren’t any options that would allow him to do so by earning an income.

Steve chews on his lip and stares at his dark monitor, lost in thought.

He feels he’s on the right track, but he can’t quite put his finger on it. He’s gotta do some more thinking.


	74. Chapter 74

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters this week! There’s a light at the end of the tunnel…but unfortunately, we’re still in the tunnel at this point.

Two days later, Steve’s sitting by his work desk, his chair spun around to face the couch, where Bucky’s curled up, staring vacantly into space.

He stares at Bucky, who’s staring right through Steve.

The last 24 hours have been especially rough. SHIELD had come for testing yesterday and then Bucky had a terrible night. He’d woken up sobbing in the middle of the night and it had taken Steve long, heart-stopping minutes to figure out what had happened. He thought Bucky had a nightmare related to SHIELD, but turned out to be something much worse.

“I—I had another stupid dream. The one where I could see and hear and I had my arm. And we were rushing through the morning cause I didn’t wanna be late for work. You told me you loved me and I ran out the door and jumped down the steps and headed to the subway to go to work. And it was so wonderful and I was so happy…and none of that’s ever gonna happen cause I’m a useless cripple who can’t do anything.”

“Buck, that’s not—”

Then Bucky had muttered something that Steve hadn’t understood due to Bucky sobbing so hard. Bucky hadn’t wanted to hear anything that Steve had to say and refused to let Steve comfort him. He’d rolled over to face his pillows and cried himself back to sleep.

Steve sighs, staring at Bucky on the couch. “We gotta fix this, Buck,” he says. “I know you know it’s fine not to work, but I know you hate it. And I don’t know how to fix it.”

Steve knows this whole thing is about a lot more than earning a paycheck. This is the first time that Bucky’s having to accept that his disabilities are severely limiting when it comes to certain things, and the fact that having a job used to be a huge part of his life makes it much harder to accept.

Steve still hasn’t had any luck coming up with good options and he’s starting to lose hope. He’s tried convincing Bucky to go see Leon, but he’s refused. Steve’s next thought had been to just go against Bucky’s wishes and ask Leon to make a house call…

…but he’d forced himself to dismiss that thought immediately.

He isn’t going to disrespect Bucky like that. Respecting Bucky’s wishes is more important than finding an immediate solution to this problem.

But just because Steve knows it’s what Bucky would want, doesn’t make it easy to sit here and do nothing while Bucky’s suffering and upset.

He stares at Bucky staring off into space, his entire face drenched in sadness, and it makes Steve’s heart ache. “I hate that you’re hurting so much, Buck. You sitting here ain’t gonna fix the situation and you know it. We gotta do something and we gotta do something soon. I wanna give you your space and respect what you wanna do, but Jesus Christ. You’re making it tough, buddy.”

His phone rings, jarring him out of his thoughts. He answers it and puts it on speaker. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me.”

Steve smiles, despite the sadness clutching his heart. “Hey, Sam. How’s it going?”

“Good, good. Just got home from work.”

“I worked on those fliers today. I’ll send you the options tomorrow, okay?”

“Thanks, man. You sound terrible. I guess Bucky’s the same?”

“Yup. No change. Well—he hasn’t touched his plants in two days. That’s a new low. I watered them for him. And Maggie bit me today. She knows Buck’s not feeling well and she probably thinks I did something to hurt him. Oh, and to make everything worse than it already is: SHIELD was here for testing yesterday.”

“Shit. How did it go?”

“Buck pulled himself together for it. I think he was so glum anyway that he didn’t think about being nervous or scared. He just sat there and didn’t move.”

Which is what Bucky does most of the time these days anyway.

Steve’s first reaction to having Major Cheng ring the intercom was to snap at him to go to hell. But then he’d remembered the stupid contract and he’d pushed his own anger and annoyance aside. He’d let the Major in and quickly told Bucky what was going on. Bucky had shaken his hand off at first, refusing to listen, but when Steve had grabbed his hand hard and spelled out ‘SHIELD’, Bucky had snapped to attention.

Steve had steered him to the table, cleared everything off it and opened the door for Major Cheng, his team and the doctor. Bucky had sat there, staring vacantly at the far wall while the doctor had put the sensors on him. Steve had battled with his nerves while he’d kept a careful eye on the monitors, hoping that Bucky’s sullen mood wouldn’t register as something that SHIELD could falsely interpret.

But Bucky’s glumness thankfully translated into normal test results.

Because they’d both cooperated completely, the testing was done within 30 minutes. Major Cheng had kept staring at Steve as if he was waiting for Steve to blow up and make things difficult, but Steve didn’t have the energy. Plus—Bucky was having a hard enough time these days without having to worry about Steve’s behavior getting him locked up.

He’d stayed polite and calm all the way until he’d shut the door behind the team. Then he’d rushed to Bucky to comfort him, but Bucky had pushed him away.

“I’m fine, Rogers. It’s just stupid testing. It ain’t a big deal. I’m tired. I’m gonna have a nap.”

And then Bucky had gone to bed and ignored Steve for the rest of the day.

While telling Sam that SHIELD had come for testing is fine, Steve decides to keep the details to himself, along with Bucky’s dream. That’s Bucky’s private business, and while Steve depends on Sam for emotional support, he tries not to violate Bucky’s privacy by talking about things that Bucky might not feel comfortable sharing.

Sam sighs. “I’m sorry.”

Steve rubs hands over his face. “Not your fault. Not mine either, or Buck’s. It’s just hard seeing him be so miserable. And there’s nothing I can say to make it better.”

“No. This isn’t your fight. This is Bucky having an identity crisis, and that’s something he’s gotta figure out, either by himself, or with a therapist. Have you tried asking him to go see Leon again?”

Steve sighs. “Yeah. I asked him three different times, three different ways and he cut me off as soon as he figured out where I was going with the question. He wants nothing to do with Leon. I think he blames Leon for this whole thing, which is ridiculous.”

Steve stares at Bucky staring into space.

“You’re doing good, Steve. He just needs time. This is a huge shift for him and it’s gonna take him a while to adjust. You just keep doing what you’re doing—give him space when he needs it, and support when he wants it.”

Steve nods, then he realizes Sam can’t see him nodding. “Yeah, I’m doing that.”

“Good. He’ll come around. You’ll know when he’s ready to talk about it.”

Steve sighs and stretches. “So you still wanna watch the movie?”

“Only if you’re in the mood.”

“You know what? I really am. I’ve been looking forward to it.”

They’d both recorded the movie ‘[Brooklyn](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brooklyn_\(film\))’ when it had played on the TV a few days ago and they’d planned to watch it together, Sam over the phone and Steve interpreting for Bucky.

“Let me ask Buck if he wants to watch it.”

He’d tried telling Bucky about the movie and about their plans to watch it with Sam a few days ago, but Bucky hadn’t been interested.

Steve gets up, walks to the couch and purposefully sits down hard so Bucky will feel it, but he keeps about a foot of distance between them.

Bucky startles slightly at the motion in the couch, but doesn’t say anything. Steve gently picks up his limp hand, squeezes it and asks him if he wants to watch the movie with him and Sam.

Bucky’s expression stays sad and vacant while Steve’s spelling. When Steve’s done, Bucky’s expression doesn’t change. “No, thank you.”

Steve sighs. “You sure, Buck? I read a review about it. It’s got so many things we’d love: it’s in the 50s and the main character’s just like ma. I told you, remember? She comes over from Ireland and ends up living in Brook—”

Bucky pulls his hand out of Steve’s grasp. “No, thank you. But you have fun.” He gets up and makes his way to the bedroom, curling up on the bed and facing the pillow wall. Steve stares at him and gets the urge to cry.

But no, that’s not being fair to himself. Bucky’s going through a rough patch, but Steve can’t let himself fall into a pit too. Then they won’t be able to help each other at all. He has to stay in a positive frame of mind. That means watching the movie which he’s been looking forward to and spending time with Sam.

There’s nothing wrong with him enjoying something while Bucky works through his identity crisis. Steve won’t erase the movie once they’re done, so if Bucky wants to watch it when he’s feeling better, he’ll watch it again.

Taking a deep breath, he gets up and grabs his phone off the desk. “Buck ain’t gonna join us.”

“You still wanna watch it? We can try tomorrow.”

“No, I wanna watch it tonight.”

“I know you probably don’t wanna hear this right now, but I’m really proud of you for this.”

Steve frowns down at his phone. “For what? Figuring how to record the movie?”

Sam chuckles. “No. You’ve been outta the ice long enough now that you don’t get points for knowing how to do simple tech things anymore. I’m proud of you for understanding that you have the right to enjoy yourself even when Bucky’s having a hard time. That’s huge and it’s really important for the long term. I just wanted to acknowledge that. Anyway, you remember how to make the movie start?”

Steve rolls his eyes with a smile. “Yeah, I remember how to press the play button, you goof.”

Sam laughs half-way through the opening credits.

Steve decides at the last minute to turn the transducers in the couch off. He wants to save that experience when he watches the movie with Bucky later on.

Whenever that will be.

The movie really is fantastic. Steve loves hearing the familiar thick Irish accents, seeing the shops, hairstyles, clothes and furniture that he’s seen most of his life, and there are a thousand little Brooklyn things in it that make him grin and tell Sam “We’ve done that!” and “I know that street!” and “We used to go to that store!”.

Sam gets as excited as Steve when they see that the subway is historically accurate.

“Look, Sam! They have the fabric on the seats! You remember I sent you those pictures from the museum?”

“I see it, I see it! That’s awesome!”

“Yeah! And you see the handles? How they’re white? That was porcelain.”

The dance hall scenes are also fascinating for Sam and make Steve feel very nostalgic. “You see the girl sitting at the table?”

“Yeah.”

“That was me. And you see that good looking fella in the middle of the dance floor, dancing with that blond girl?”

Sam’s already laughing. “Yeah. That was Bucky?”

“That was Bucky.”

When the characters go to Coney Island for an afternoon of swimming, Steve lets out a happy shout. “Buck! They’re at Coney Island!”

He’s pointing at the TV screen, until he realizes Bucky can’t see where he’s pointing. He’s also forgotten that Bucky isn’t sitting next to him on the couch, so he glances around in confusion, until he remembers.

He stares at Bucky through the open bedroom door. He’s curled up on the bed, sad and quiet, and immediately some of Steve’s excitement fades.

Sam must have caught the sudden silence from Steve’s end, because he smoothly steps in. “It’s alright. You’ve got plenty of room on the recorder. You can keep the movie and watch it again when Bucky’s feeling better.”

Steve clenches his jaw and forces himself to look back at the television. “Yeah. Yeah, we can do that.”

*             *             *

After his own research doesn’t yield any good options, Steve decides to email Cecilia from HKNC. He keeps is questions vague again and uses his anonymous email address. But this time, Steve decides to be more honest about Bucky’s disabilities. There’s no point in asking for her assistance if he won’t tell her the true extent of Bucky’s disabilities.

Just like last time, Cecilia responds within a day and answers his questions without asking for more information.

At first, she confirms what Steve has already found out. The employment rate for deafblind individuals is about 20%, and that includes individuals who have some sight, some hearing or both, and most don’t have other disabilities to deal with. For individuals in Bucky’s situations, she says his chances of finding employment by working for somebody are even lower. Bucky’s disabilities present a huge legal liability for employers and many of them won’t want to provide accommodations for him. The sad fact is, they don’t have to put up with the liability or provide any accommodations if they hire an able-bodied person instead of Bucky.

To Steve’s surprise, she tells him that laws have been passed that prevent employers from openly discriminating against Bucky—those laws would have been useful for Steve back in the day!—but the little bit of hope that those words provide quickly vanish when she tells him that it still won’t help. There are hundreds of sly ways that employers could get away with discriminating against Bucky without being upfront about it, so there’s little anybody could do about it.

But she reminds him that the government acknowledges the difficulties individuals like Bucky have with finding employment, which is why there are a range of social assistance payments available, if Bucky choses to apply for them.

But that’s not an option for them anyway. Cecilia tells him that individuals need to prove their need for such funds, and Steve realizes that once Bucky’s back pay comes through, he wouldn’t be eligible for financial assistance anyway. And that’s alright. It wouldn’t sit well with either of them to take money that other people need much more than they do.

And anyway, money isn’t the issue with this whole mess.

Cecilia reminds him that Bucky would have employment options available to him if he had the necessary knowledge to do knowledge-based jobs. There are deafblind individuals who work as lawyers, disability advocates, accountants, engineers etc—but those are all jobs that would require Bucky to do years of schooling.

Out of the blue, it occurs to Steve that this is another example of the strange role reversal that he and Bucky have undergone. His eyes slide off the email as he recalls how completely reversed their positions used to be.

He remembers the day when twelve year old Bucky had told him about getting the full time job at the icehouse as a sweeper. After Bucky had told him all about Eddie O’Shea helping him get the job, Steve’s ma had left for a night shift at the hospital and he and Bucky had sat out on the fire escape and kept talking about Bucky’s new job and his detailed plans for his first day of grown-up work.

Aside from Bucky making good money, Steve knew what else getting a grown-up job meant: Bucky would be quitting school. And Steve had been fully on board with it. Making money was more important than stuffing silly knowledge into their heads. So it was time for Steve to get a grown-up job too. He’d told Bucky that he’d spend the next day looking for work and then they’d both be doing full time work and earning grown-up money. The time for being silly children was over. It was time to be an adult, which meant making money.

Steve had been preparing himself to ask Bucky how to break the news to his ma, who’d always valued education and wanted them both to stay in school. He knew she’d hate the idea of both of them quitting school, but it had to be done.

But then to his surprise, Bucky had been the one to shake his head. “No, Stevie. I’m gonna work, but you gotta stay in school.”

“What are you talking about?! We ain’t kids no more and it’s time to start making money. That’s what you just said, you goof.”

“I know what I said. I said _I_ gotta start working, cause we all need more money. But you gotta stay in school.”

“What?! Why? Making money’s more important.”

“Yeah, that’s the point! Stevie, you know you can’t do the physical stuff real well. You can’t carry heavy things and your back would be killing you if you were bending over all day and your heart couldn’t take all that hard work. And you’d be breathing in lots of bad stuff—your asthma would kill you if you were breathing in sawdust all day. You ain’t supposed to be doing work like that, Stevie. It’s too dangerous.”

That had riled Steve right up. “I can do it! I just need a bit more time and maybe lift a little less than others. Maybe take a few more breaks. It’ll be just like our special games. I can do it, but just a little different.”

Bucky had looked really sad at that point. “Stevie, you don’t get it. We can do things different when it’s just us and your ma, or people who like you. But a big, mean boss—they don’t like anybody. They just want people doing work as quick and good as possible. They ain’t gonna wanna hire you.”

“But—”

Bucky had put his arm around his shoulder. “Listen, pal. If there’s anything I can do to help you get work, then I’ll do it. But these big bosses? There ain’t nothing we can do.”

“So…you want me to just stay in school like a stupid, useless kid?”

Bucky had made a dismissive noise. “Being in school ain’t stupid! That’s what I’m trying to say. You ain’t ever gonna do well doing physical work, but that’s okay! There’s lots of other jobs, like working in shops or being a lawyer or a doctor. You can do that stuff cause it don’t matter what your body can’t do, it only matters what’s in your brain. And you gotta stay in school so that your brain gets real smart. So when people tell you that you can’t do something, you can tell ‘em that you can, cause you’ve got a smart brain and you’ll show ‘em. You see what I’m saying, pal?”

At the time, Steve hadn’t really understood and he hadn’t been pleased about it. But when his ma had told him that she’d carry him to school and tie him to a chair if he even thought about not going voluntarily, he was out of options. So he’d stayed in school and Bucky and his ma helped him catch up whenever he was recovering from a lengthy illness. Making sure Steve graduated from school became a top priority for both Bucky and his ma, and they didn’t let up until the day he graduated.

It wasn’t until Steve was looking for work after graduation that he’d finally understood why Bucky and his ma had been so insistent. A lot of employers barely even glanced at him before telling him there wasn’t any available work, so Steve would always start out by listing his skills: he could read and write perfectly, he could do math, he had great organizational skills, he had a good vocabulary, and on and on and on. He’d lay out exactly what skills he had that would allow him to be not just a decent employee, but a damn good one. And when his potential employers would snort and tell him to prove that he had those skills, Steve would pull out his high school diploma and shove it under their noses.

Twenty years later, and Bucky and Steve’s roles have completely reversed.

Steve realizes everything that applied to his situation now applies to Bucky. If Bucky wants to get a good paying job that allows him to utilize his skills, he’ll need to consider knowledge-based jobs. His disabilities make it unsafe or impossible for him to do most physical work. But that’s okay. If he’s doing knowledge-based jobs, then to quote Bucky himself: “it don’t matter what your body can’t do, it only matters what’s in your brain.” And to get that knowledge—and to prove that he has learned the knowledge—he has to go back to school.

And while Bucky learns, Steve will work to support them both and he’ll help Bucky with his schooling.

The whole thing makes him smile, but that smile wobbles a bit when he considers that Bucky may not find the role reversal so easy to swallow.

The fact that Bucky has spent his entire life doing manual labor jobs means that his idea of what a ‘real’ job is has always been tied together with the amount somebody sweats while doing that job. If pushed, Steve knows Bucky will acknowledge that Steve’s old jobs were just as important and just as worthy of being considered ‘real jobs’, but acknowledging it and accepting it as his own reality are two different things.

And spending years in school when Steve was young was one thing. But telling Bucky that he might have to spend years in school now that he’s an adult would probably rub him the wrong way.

And how would schooling even work for Bucky with his disabilities? Steve had had a hard enough time and he had one working ear and his eyes were half-decent. But Bucky’s complete lack of sight and hearing would make it impossible for him to learn. But then he remembers that Helen Keller had gone to college…

…so it must be possible. But how?

But before Steve can go down that path any further, a better question occurs to him. Assuming that Bucky somehow acquires the knowledge he needs, how on earth would Bucky be able to do these knowledge-based jobs? Steve knows that all of those jobs require some computer use. Would Bucky be paired with a person who would do the computer work for him? Wouldn’t that make Bucky a less valuable employee than a person without disabilities? Why would anybody hire Bucky to do that work if he’d always need extra help?

The whole thing sounds confusing and unrealistic, so Steve emails Cecilia back and asks for more clarification. To his surprise, she responds within half an hour.

To his further surprise, she tells him that Bucky’s value as an employee would be directly tied to his braille fluency.

And that…leads to a lot more questions for Steve. How on earth would reading books help make Bucky more valuable for an employer? If reading books were part of his job, that would make sense. But Bucky wouldn’t be able to read just any book. He could only read braille books. Yes, there are many braille books these days…but how does that help Bucky do work?

So Steve emails Cecilia back and apologizes for not understanding, but he wants to know what braille fluency has to do with Bucky’s ability to do work.

If Cecilia’s email about the braille was confusing, then her next response is completely nonsensical.

She tells him that braille fluency will allow Bucky to use a computer. Hence, he can do work that requires computer use. That would allow him to work for somebody else or to become self-employed.

And that…makes no sense to Steve. None at all. He uses a computer every single day and he knows Bucky wouldn’t be able to use one. Not because he’s stupid, but because it’s just not physically possible. Maybe Cecilia is referring to gluing braille dots onto the keys so Bucky can learn how to type…?

But he and Bucky have already found the problem with that: learning how to type on a keyboard isn’t the problem. Seeing what’s on the screen is the problem. Knowing where to click on the screen is the problem. Knowing where to type on the screen is the problem. And there’s no physical way for Bucky to do that. The screen is completely flat. There’s nothing that Bucky could feel.

Steve is prepared to dismiss the whole thing as nonsense, but there’s that voice in his head, telling him to think logically. Cecilia works for HKNC. She works with deafblind people all the time. So surely she knows what she’s talking about…?

But what if she’s talking about people who have a little sight or a little hearing?

But Steve’s told her about Bucky’s complete lack of sight and hearing…

Maybe there’s such a thing as a deafblind computer? But no matter what angle Steve examines that from, he can’t figure out how such a thing would work. Most computers these days don’t even have keyboards. They’re flat screens. They’re the worst possible items for a deafblind individual to use.

Steve is about to email Cecilia back…but then he realizes he’s following the wrong path again. Cecilia was very clear that Bucky would need braille fluency to do computer…stuff. Despite not understanding how the two things are connected, one thing’s clear: Bucky is very, very far from being a fluent braille reader. Plus, computer usage would require Bucky to learn a lot of new information. Bucky’s never even used a typewriter, never mind a complex machine like a computer. It would take Bucky months to achieve braille fluency, never mind learning how to use a computer. And using deafblind computers would probably be a million times harder.

And Bucky wants to find immediate solutions. He wants to find work right now. So anything that’s connected to schooling, braille fluency and computer use isn’t a solution for today. Steve makes a note to tell Bucky about all of this later—when he’s in a better mood—but he knows that bringing it up right now will make Bucky’s mood a lot worse.

Bucky wants a quick fix and telling him about things that will require months or years of learning is only going to annoy him further.

So Steve pushes that whole idea out of his head and goes back to Cecilia’s initial email. Now that he’s realized that doing full-time work isn’t an immediate possibility for Bucky, he’s really starting to get a bad feeling about this, so he reads the remainder of her email with some trepidation.

But Cecilia surprises him again.

She asks him if ‘his friend’ has considered doing volunteer work. It’s not paid, but there are many organizations who need volunteers for different things. Most of those organizations are desperate enough for volunteers that they would be willing to provide adaptations that Bucky would need to do the work. And Bucky may be able to find simple work that doesn’t require a lot of training, so he might be able to start doing that relatively soon.

Hope comes flooding back and Steve grins at the email. “That’s the answer! That’s. The. Answer!”

Volunteering!

That’s exactly what Bucky needs. It’ll allow him to do meaningful work and get some of his confidence back. That’ll make Bucky feel good! He wouldn’t be financially contributing to their household, but Steve knows that Bucky will have to accept that. Steve will bring up the idea of schooling as an option for getting a paying job, but if Bucky doesn’t want to go down that road, then volunteering is his only option.

This could really work!

He quickly sends an email to Cecilia, thanking her for her input, then he races into the bedroom to wake Bucky, who’s having his third nap of the day.

He sits on the edge of the bed, and wiggles a bit, letting Bucky feel the vibrations and wake up without being too startled.

Bucky shifts and pulls the blanket further up. “Go away, Rogers. I’m sleeping.”

Steve gently shakes him. “You’re gonna wanna hear this, Buck. Come on, wake—”

“Go. Away. And quit touching me.”

“Come on. Don’t be like this. Please.” Steve spells ‘please’ on Bucky’s right shoulder, keeping his fingers gentle, but insistent.

He knows Bucky can’t figure out what he’s spelling, but eventually, Bucky lets out an annoyed sigh and rolls over, letting his hand flop out from the blankets.

“Okay, talk. But talk slow cause I’m half asleep. And this better be important or I ain’t listening to you for the rest of the day.”

Steve tells him he could probably find some volunteer work to do. He doesn’t bother telling him that he’d asked HKNC for help. That would probably lead to a fight and that’s not what Steve wants right now.

Because Bucky’s still half-asleep, he’s not really following. “Volunteer work? What does that mean? What kind of work is that?”

“Jesus, Barnes. Wake your brain up.” Steve spells out ‘wake up, wake up, wake up’ until Bucky pulls his hand away and pushes himself into a sitting position. He lets out an annoyed grumble, but he holds out his hand so Steve can keep spelling.

Steve reminds him how his ma, Bucky’s ma and his sisters used to volunteer at the church every Sunday after service, helping sort donations.

Bucky blinks several times. “But—but they weren’t paid for that. That was just charity.”

“Yeah, so?”

A frown spreads over Bucky’s face. “That’s not—no, that ain’t what I want, Rogers. And you know it. I wanna be making money. That’s the only worthwhile work there is.”

Steve snorts in exasperation. “You know that ain’t true. You know how impor—”

“No, be quiet. I’m done with this stupid conversation. Move over. I gotta piss.” He yanks his hand out of Steve’s grasp and starts scooting towards the edge of the bed, shouldering Steve out of the way.

“Buck, come on. You didn’t even think about it!” Steve grabs for Bucky’s hand, but Bucky smacks it away.

“I said: I gotta pee.”

Ten minutes later, Bucky finds Steve in the kitchen and apologizes for being a rude twit, but he also refuses to continue discussing the possibility of volunteering.

Steve is still annoyed by Bucky’s attitude, so he grabs his hand and tells him there aren’t any other options.

“Well, you’re probably not doing the research right.”

“I’ve been doing the research perfect! Buck, there ain’t no options that are safe or realistic other than having your own business or going to school for years to learn stuff. And both of those options would take a very long time to get you a decent paycheck. You—”

That’s when Bucky rips his hand out of Steve’s grasp. “Look at the time, Rogers. If we don’t get going with breakfast, you’re gonna be late to work. You don’t wanna do that—you can’t earn your _paycheck_ if you’re late to _work_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1uw20slrGZw) is the scene in the movie Brooklyn where the two main characters are on the subway. When Bucky gets around to watching it, we’ll learn more about the movie (it has very strong ties with Mrs. R!) and I’ll include a few more clips.


	75. Chapter 75

In an effort to distract himself and be a better and slightly more bearable human being, Bucky is working on art projects for Steve and Natasha.

For Natasha, he’s working on decorating a picture frame Steve had bought. Steve had printed out the picture of the three of them from Prospect Park, stuck it into the frame, and Bucky’s gluing different seashells on the frame.

It’s not a difficult project but he pays careful attention to what he’s doing. He hates getting dabs of glue on the seashells and not noticing until the blob has dried. He also doesn’t like putting too much glue on the shell because some of it always squeezes out and makes an unattractive border.

Slowly, he sorts through his box of shells from Brighton Beach and finds ones he likes the feel of. He chooses the placement for each shell carefully, wanting to mix up the shell types so it looks interesting, but not too busy.

Everything is going well, until he pushes too hard on a shell that he’s putting on the frame, and he feels it snap in half. Making a face, he carefully pries the shell pieces off the frame and uses his thumb to wipe the glue off.

It takes him several minutes to find a shell that’s a replica of the one he’d broken, and because he’s already annoyed, he presses too hard again, and breaks that one too.

“Jesus Christ, Barnes!” Useless, pathetic twit!

He gets the shell and the glue off the frame and decides he’s had enough of working on that project for today. Screwing the lid on the glue pot, he grabs the paint brush and heads to the bathroom to wash his hand and the brush.

Once he’s back at the couch, he takes the glue pot and box of shells over to the art shelf and puts them away. He decides to try being a little more productive today, so he grabs the supplies for Steve’s pinhole art project and goes back to the couch.

He carefully explores the pinhole designs already on the paper to re-familiarize himself with their placement and what he still wants to add. When he’s ready, he picks out his next stencil, choses its placement and slowly moves along the edge of the stencil, poking holes at equal intervals.

While he works, his nose starts itching, so he raises his hand, itches his nose and then finds the stencil again and continues poking.

Once he’s made it all the way around the stencil, he decides to flip it over and see how it looks. He takes a second to put his poker back into the case, then he takes the sheet off the clipboard and turns it over. He finds the new shape right away. It’s a hexagon, so he’s expecting to feel six connected sides.

He finds the first side, follows it to the second, to the third…and then there’s smooth paper.

What?!

He moves his finger around and finally finds the fourth, fifth and sixth sides…but they’re not connected to the first three.

Shit! He must have nudged the stencil when he’d scratched his nose. Despair and disappointment flood him immediately. He’s worked so hard on this piece already and there’s no way to undo the holes in the paper!

Damn it! He’s useless, pathetic and he can’t even do simple tasks right! Shit!

Grabbing the clipboard, he slams it on the table, wanting to get it away from him. A sudden, sharp pain erupts on his forehead and right cheek.

What the hell? Frowning, he touches the sore spots, checking if he feels any blood. He doesn’t feel any wetness, so that’s good. But he’d definitely felt some pain.

Confused, he drops his hand into his lap…where it encounters something sharp and jagged.

He thinks it’s his pin-pencil—but no, he remembers putting that back into the pencil case. He touches the hard, jagged object, trying to figure out what it is. As soon as he’s rubbing it between his fingers, he recognizes it.

It’s a broken piece of a seashell.

And it’s not a seashell from the box of shells because he knows he put the box away. A sick feeling tightens his stomach. Please no, please no, please no.

He reaches out his trembling hand, pushes aside the clipboard he’d slammed down…

…and feels the picture frame, which is now covered in broken, smashed shells.

So in the space of 30 seconds, he’s ruined both of his projects because he’s such a clumsy, useless idiot! Bitter disappointment crawls up his throat and he feels tears welling up in his eyes.

This can’t be his life! It’s bad enough that he can’t work and can’t do any chores—but now he can’t do simple projects either?!

He feels the first sob force its way out of his mouth, but he clamps his mouth shut and squeezes his eyes shut, refusing to give in to the tears. He might be useless and pathetic, but he’s not gonna let himself cry over it like a little child.

Within seconds, he feels a gentle hand on his arm. He doesn’t bother feeling for the bracelet.

He wants to explain that he’s okay, they’re just stupid projects and he can always do them again because he’s got nothing but time these days—but that makes him feel even worse.

He hates that he wrecked the projects, but he hates that the projects are so important to him. They’re the only thing he has to keep himself busy…

…for the rest of his life.

_The rest of his life!_

And he can’t even do them without screwing up!

“I don’t like this, Steve. I don’t like any part of this,” he manages to choke out. He feels Steve’s hand running up his arm and gently pulling Bucky against his chest. He lets himself be pulled and thuds into Steve’s chest, drawing in shuddering breaths as he keeps his eyes squeezed shut and his face pressed into Steve’s shirt.

Steve is rubbing his back, moving his lips against Bucky’s temple so he can feel it.

“I wrecked your and Nat’s presents,” Bucky mumbles, trying to swallow around the hard lump squeezing his throat. He can feel the tears trying to force their way out, but he refuses to give in to them.

“The stupid stencil got nudged on the pinhole paper and I didn’t notice cause I’m an idiot. The hexagon ain’t a hexagon and there’s no way to fix it. And then I slammed the clipboard on Nat’s frame and broke all the shells and probably the frame too.”

Fingers are gently rubbing his hand, which is clenched in a tight fist and digging into Steve’s thigh. The fingers rub and squeeze his trembling hand, soothing it until he manages to unclench his fingers. Steve gently opens up his hand and flips it over on his thigh so he can talk.

Steve tells him it’s okay, he’ll help Bucky re-do the projects. It’s not the end of the world. The frame isn’t damaged, many of the shells are still intact, and Steve can glue a piece of paper over the incorrect holes in the pin hole art.

That makes Bucky feel worse. “I don’t want that! I don’t want you to have to fix my stupid art things because I messed them up. I can’t work, I can’t do chores and when I mess up my stupid art things, I can’t even fix them myself. I’m a useless child!”

The arm that’s around Bucky’s back squeezes him tight and Steve is frantically signing on his palm.

He’s not useless. He’s not—

“Yes, I am! I’m an useless idiot!” And that’s when he loses the battle and the tears slide down his cheeks. “I shouldn’t have agreed to the stupid surgery in the first place. I should have waited for you to come up with a better solution instead of being an impatient moron. I’m a useless moron and I don’t got anybody to blame except myself,” he sobs into Steve’s shirt.

He’s abruptly pushed off Steve’s chest and Steve’s hands are tight on his face, his thumbs rubbing away Bucky’s tears. Steve’s tense and upset too. He feels Steve press his face against his own, Steve’s lips moving against his wet cheek.

None of that makes him feel better. In fact, knowing that he’s upsetting Steve makes the whole thing worse.

“I’m sorry I’m such an idiot. At least when I was locked up in prison, I wasn’t such a drain on you. Now I’m gonna be thorn in your side for the rest of my life.”

*             *             *

“You ain’t a drain, Buck. You ain’t a drain!”

Steve’s heart aches at the cruel words Bucky is saying about himself. He takes his hands off Bucky’s face and starts spelling as he keeps talking.

“You ain’t a drain. You’re my soul, my heart, my everything. You’re my best friend, my family, the love of my life.”

The misery on Bucky’s face doesn’t ease. Steve feels him trying to pull his hand out of Steve’s grasp, but Steve tightens his grip and doesn’t let him. “Did you ever think I was a drain? Huh? Did you?”

The change in topic makes Bucky frown. He manages to choke out: “No. You—no. Why would I ever think you’re a drain?”

“I couldn’t work most of the time, right? I needed help taking care of myself, I couldn’t help with chores and I dropped things and broke things all the time when I was weak from being sick, right? Did you ever think of me as a thorn in your side? Huh?”

Bucky blinks a few times and sniffs. The change in topic has made him stop crying, which is good, but he doesn’t seem to understand what Steve is saying. “Of course not. That—none of that was your fault. You did the best you could. It wasn’t your fault your body didn’t work real good.”

Steve squeezes Bucky’s hand. “Why can’t you be as understanding with yourself, Buck? You’re doing the best you can too and it’s more than enough for me. Why can’t it be enough for you?”

Bucky looks miserable and he shakes his head. “It just can’t. I wanna work. I’ve always worked.”

Gently, Steve pulls Bucky back into his arms, but keeps his hand flat on his thigh so he can keep spelling. It’s a good sign that Bucky’s calmed down a bit, but they have a ways to go.

“What did ma always say about wanting things?”

That makes Bucky snort and a rueful smile tugs on the corners of his lips. “Wanting things and getting things are two different things.”

“Exactly. You working a normal job right now ain’t gonna happen, and we gotta figure how to make you accept that.”

Bucky’s faces crumbles again and he looks close to tears again. “I don’t know how.”

“I think this ain’t about working a job, Buck. This is about you trying to find more meaning in your life. You can do that without working a job.”

Bucky draws in shaky breaths and blinks back tears clinging to his eyelashes. “What kind of things can I do instead of working? Playing games and doing my art projects ain’t good enough.”

“No, I agree. And if you really, really wanna get a paying job, then you can do that, but it’ll take time. You’ll need to go back to school and you’ll need to learn lots of things. You’ll need to get fluent at braille and learn how to use a computer and—”

That seems to get Bucky riled up. “Don’t be dumb, Rogers! I can’t use a computer!”

“Yeah, you can! They make deafblind computers now.” Steve still isn’t clear about any of that, but now is not the time to fuss over details. If Cecilia said that Bucky can eventually learn how to use a computer, then it must be true. “But it’ll take a long time until you can use one.”

“Then that’s a dumb idea.”

“It ain’t—” Steve takes a deep breath. He’d known that Bucky wouldn’t see the benefits of the computer situation when he’s in this negative frame of mind. “Learning new things ain’t dumb—”

“I don’t wanna go back to school like a stupid kid! School is for kids!”

Now Steve knows that Bucky’s just arguing for the sake of arguing, but he doesn’t want to give up so easily. “Somebody real smart once told me that being in school ain’t stupid. You can’t do the physical jobs that you used to do, but that’s okay! There’s lots of jobs you can do that only need a smart brain. I know you’ve got a smart brain already, but you gotta go to school and learn the things they want you to learn so then you can prove that you’ve got a smart brain. Then you can get a paying job.”

Steve thinks his speech is really well laid out and he’s loving that he can use Bucky’s own words to help move them into a better direction. But he’s so focused on what he’s spelling that he’s not noticing Bucky’s face growing angrier until he happens to glance up at him. “Why are you—”

Bucky abruptly yanks his hand out of Steve’s grasp. “Quit pitying me!”

“What? I ain’t pitying you!” Steve grabs for Bucky’s hand so he can tell him that, but Bucky smacks his hand away and refuses to listen.

“I ain’t gonna sit in school like some pathetic kid who can’t do nothing else! I don’t wanna just do some special jobs! I wanna do normal jobs!”

Steve sighs. “You can’t do the jobs you used to do, Barnes! It don’t matter how much you argue about it or yell about it, it ain’t gonna—”

Of course, Bucky doesn’t hear him because he’s refusing to let Steve spell on his hand. “Those kinds of job were okay for you, cause you were used to being a useless cripple! But I ain’t! I ain’t gonna live my life like that, Rogers! I don’t care that you were fine with being a useless cripple back then, but I ain’t gonna do that!”

That hurts. That really hurts. Steve gapes at Bucky. What Bucky’s saying isn’t true at all, it’s not helping the situation, and the fact that he’s being cruel to Steve is completely unnecessary.

“That was mean, James Barnes! That was real mean, you twit!”

Steve’s shock is quickly replaced by anger and he roughly grabs Bucky’s hand and refuses to let Bucky rip it out of his grasp. He spells out ‘mean’ and ‘cruel’ and ‘fuck you’, then shoves Bucky’s hand away and gets off the couch.

He knows Bucky didn’t mean it, but the words still sting. Bucky knows—he _knows_ —how hard it was for Steve to accept his own limitations before the serum. How angry Steve would get at not being able to do certain things. How upset he’d get at his body limiting him while his brain wanted to do so many bigger things. And it had been Bucky who had always tried to make him see the brighter side of things and encouraged him to focus on what he could do, rather than what he couldn’t.

Steve stomps away from the couch and heads to the balcony door, glaring through the window. He can see Bucky in the reflection of the glass. Bucky’s still glaring, but his jaw is twitching and he’s rubbing his fingers together, as if he’s remembering the words Steve had angrily spelled out.

Steve glares at Bucky’s reflection. “You regret saying those nasty things, don’t you, huh? Stupid jerk. Well, you can sit there and feel bad about it for a while. You deserve it. Idiot. You don’t got the—”

“Steve?” Bucky’s voice is very quiet.

Steve ignores him and stays by the window, watching Bucky’s reflection.

The anger has faded from Bucky’s face and he looks pale and miserable. “Stevie, I’m sorry. I’m real sorry. I didn’t mean any of that.” Then Bucky starts feeling the surface of the couch, probably looking for Steve.

“Steve? Where’d you go? I wanna apologize in person.” Once the couch is checked, Bucky gets up and starts methodically searching the apartment for Steve.

He explores the chairs around the table and Steve’s work desk. When Bucky comes near him, Steve stays out of his reach, not letting him find him. He’s still annoyed and hurt because of the jerk so it makes him feel good to let Bucky suffer a bit. It’s petty and childish, but Bucky had been just as petty and childish with his cruel words, so he deserves it.

“Steve? Come on. Where are you? Let me apologize in person, okay? Please?”

“You were a stupid jerk, James Barnes. I don’t gotta let you apologize if I don’t wanna.”

Bucky’s finished searching the living room and he moves into the bedroom, kitchen and then the bathroom. He searches by the front door too.

Steve watches him, wondering what he’s going to do next. Steve knows Bucky knows he didn’t go outside because his motion sensor hadn’t been triggered. Bucky knows Steve is avoiding him on purpose.

Bucky looks absolutely miserable and there are fresh tears in his eyes, but he goes back to the couch and sits down. “Alright. If you don’t want me to find you, then I’ll leave you alone. I said real awful things and you’ve got the right to be upset with me. But I want you to know that I’m real sorry. My head’s in a real awful place these days, but that’s no excuse for being cruel. You were trying to be helpful and I’m being stupid and childish. I guess I’m allowed to do that, but I ain’t allowed to be cruel.”

Steve leans against the glass of the balcony door and stares at Bucky. “No, you ain’t.”

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut, tears rolling down his cheeks. “You were never a useless cripple, Stevie. Never. It didn’t matter to me what you could and couldn’t do. You’ve always been the light in my life and you’ve always made my life a thousand times better just by being in it.”

That’s when Steve pushes off the glass and goes to the couch. He kneels down in front of Bucky and gently touches his knees.

Bucky startles a bit, but his hands immediately feel Steve’s bracelets. Then he brings Steve’s hands to his lips and kisses each of his hands, one at a time. “I’m sorry for saying those awful things. I don’t even know what I said. They were just awful and they were baloney. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he mumbles against Steve’s hands and then presses one of Steve’s hands to his forehead.

“I need to fix this, Stevie. I really, really need to fix this. I ain’t being a good person and that ain’t right.”

Steve sighs softly. He gently brings Bucky’s hand down to Bucky’s thigh so he can spell. “No, it ain’t. I know how hard this is for you, Buck. I’ve been in your shoes. And you know what helped me?”

Bucky takes a shaky breath. “What?”

“You made me see that I had so much potential and that I wasn’t gonna get anywhere if I kept focusing on what I couldn’t do. You kept pushing me to pay attention to what I could do. Remember how you were the one who told me to try sketching people for money? That went a lot better than spending all day going to factories and trying to get work that I knew I couldn’t really do. And you told me to go to the Hartley’s to see if I could work in their bookshop. Remember?"

Bucky gives a small nod.

Steve smiles and kisses Bucky’s hand before continuing to spell. “You made me focus on the jobs that I could do, not on the ones I couldn’t. You need to do the same, Buck.”

Bucky takes a shaky breath. “I don’t know if I can.”

Steve squeezes his hand and presses his forehead against Bucky’s. “I know you can. I _know_. It’ll take time, but I know you’ll get there. You’re amazing, Bucky Barnes and you’re gonna do so many amazing things, but you can’t keep focusing on what you can’t do. That’ll just make you upset.”

Bucky nods, but he still looks miserable. “I know. But knowing it and doing it are different things.”

Steve gently holds his chin and kisses him firmly, then picks up his hand to keep spelling. “I know. Believe me, I know. And you know that I know. You’ll get there but it’ll take time. But you gotta start taking small steps.”

“Like what?”

“What about volunteer work? I know you weren’t keen on it, but it’s something you could do without needing a lot of training and you know doing volunteer work is real important in society. You’ll get a better feel for what you can do and what you can’t do.”

Bucky doesn’t look enthusiastic about that idea at all. “I just—I ain’t ready for that. It feels like giving up. It feels like I have to settle for doing something less cause I ain’t good enough to do real work.”

Steve sighs and squeezes Bucky’s hand. “That’s not what volunteering’s about, Buck.”

“I know. But that don’t matter. It’s how I feel about it. For now, I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Will you at least think about talking to Leon about this? Maybe he can help you think about things differently.”

Bucky makes a face. “Not right now.”

“But you’ll think about it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I will.”

“And you’ll quit taking out your anger on me?”

That makes Bucky’s face crumble again and he wraps his hand around Steve’s waist and buries his face in Steve’s neck. “I promise. I’m so sorry, Stevie. No more, I promise.”

Steve rubs his back and taps it a few times to let him know he forgives him.

It feels like they’d taken a few steps backwards tonight, but Steve thinks they’ve also taken a few, small steps forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank Klaaraa for pointing out the wonderful role reversal for the boys, regarding one of them being in school and the other working. It hadn’t even occurred to me, so if you enjoyed the inclusion of that scene, you can thank Klaaraa for it! Incidentally, she’s also the reason this update became two chapters instead of one!


	76. Chapter 76

Bucky’s mood doesn’t get any better but he’s accepted that sitting by himself and getting angry and crying doesn’t help the situation and it also makes him a miserable human being to be around. Now that he’s taken out his temper on Steve twice, he firmly resolves not to let that happen again. He needs to stay distracted with fun things, and hopefully that’ll let him stay in a better mood and when he’s in a better mood, hopefully he’ll start seeing things differently. But even if he can’t get himself to accept the realities of this job situation, he needs to be a better person when it comes to his family, so he lets Steve and other things in the apartment distract him.

He spends a lot more time with Maggie, who is still upset at him for his recent lackluster attitude and it takes two days until she climbs up on his finger when he puts his hand into her cage and lets Bucky scratch her good cheek. He takes care of his plants, fixes Natasha’s frame and accepts Steve help with fixing the hexagon pinhole mess.

Bucky also realizes that he’s really missed Steve. He’s missed talking to him and spending time with him, and ignoring Steve isn’t good for his own state of mind, and it’s also hugely disrespectful to Steve, who does way too much for Bucky anyway.

They do easy braille exercises and practice ASL fingerspelling—and Bucky is appalled to find he’s forgotten basically everything he’d learned and has to start from the beginning—they play simple games, they watch baseball games, they go for long walks and explore new subway lines, and they swim a few times a week.

Out of all those things, swimming cheers Bucky up the most.

It’s the one time he can truly feel how much he’s progressing. He knows it doesn’t really count—being able to swim isn’t contributing to their household or society—but at least he stops feeling pathetic and useless when he manages to achieve a new swimming goal.

They’ve been going to the pool for a while now and Bucky’s at the point where he’s ready to swim on his own.

He’s already swum a few laps on his own, with Steve swimming right in front of him, but he wants to try swimming completely on his own.

When he’s in the water leaning against the wall with his goggles on, his flotation belt around his waist, and his kickboard in his hand, he tells Steve he’s ready to go.

Steve squeezes Bucky’s hand. He’s wondering if Bucky is really, really sure.

Bucky nods firmly. He needs to do this. He needs to show himself, Steve and the world that he can do it. Even if he can’t get a real job in a normal way, at least he can swim on his own. Hopefully.

“I can do it, Steve. Taj is watching me, right?”

He feels a tap on his shoulder. He knows that’s Taj.

“Okay, then. I’ll go slow and I’ll stay right by the lane marker. If anything happens, I won’t sink and I can just call for help and Taj will come in and help me. Right, Taj?”

Bucky feels another tap on his shoulder.

“See? Taj will keep an eye on me. I can do it.”

He feels Steve withdrawing his hand and the water sloshes a bit. Steve’s getting out of his way. Hopefully. Taj had already promised—through Steve—that he’ll alert anybody who gets into the lane with him that they should stay out of Bucky’s way and not startle him.

Bucky always uses the slow lane and Steve has told him that the people who use the lane with him are always moving slow enough that Bucky doesn’t have to worry about them splashing him unexpectedly. And as long as Bucky keeps his movements in the lane predictable, the others easily move around him without bumping into him. It also helps that Taj and Lisa keep a close eye on his lane and make sure his lane-mates understand Bucky’s unique situation.

There was one heart-stopping time when he and Steve had been swimming in the lane by the wall, and suddenly, the water had churned up and a huge amount of water had splashed Bucky in the face. Then he’d felt strange legs touching his own legs and he’d completely panicked. He’d let go of his kickboard, grabbed Steve’s arm and wrapped himself around Steve. They were in the deep water, so he hadn’t noticed at the time that he’d pushed Steve underwater. Steve had grabbed the lane marker, but they weren’t designed to support that amount of weight, so they just sank right along with Steve. Lisa had jumped in and tried to get Bucky off Steve.

Bucky had felt strange arms tugging on him and first he’d tightened his grip on Steve, but when he felt somebody kicking him hard—later he’d been told it was Lisa—he’d let go of Steve out of reflex and let himself be pulled to the wall. As soon as he was being towed, he’d realized he was actually fine. He’d still been wearing his flotation belt so he hadn’t actually sunk, but the shock of the water splashing up and the strange person’s legs touching him had made him panic.

Later Steve had informed him a teenage boy had thought it would be funny to jump into their lane, nearly landing on Bucky. Taj had thrown him out of the pool, banned him for a week, and after that, Bucky swims in the center lane and Taj and Lisa keep a close eye on his lane-mates.

Lisa also had a stern discussion with Steve, telling him he wouldn’t be doing Bucky any favors if he lets Bucky drown him accidentally. Bucky had agreed with her. “If I panic and cling to you, you gotta get me off you, Steve. Right away. You know I ain’t gonna sink. I’ll be fine. I gotta get used to it, but if I hurt you—or Lord forbid, do something worse—how the hell am I supposed to live with that, huh?”

That event had happened a few weeks ago, and since then, Bucky’s gotten even more comfortable in the water. It’s still shocking when water splashes him unexpectedly, but he no longer panics when it happens. He knows he’s got his flotation belt on and his kickboard in his hand. Plus, the swimming practice has helped his legs remember how to move in the water. He’s reasonably sure he could keep himself afloat without the belt or the kickboard, but for now, he likes the extra safety.

Once Steve has stepped out of his way, Bucky finds the lane-marker on his right, grabs the kickboard in a secure grip, and then he pushes off the wall, gliding through the water. He kicks his feet, feeling the plastic lane-marker brush his right side as he goes. He lowers his chin into the water and feels the cool, chemically scented water streaming past his chin and little waves splashing up onto his nose.

To his pleasant surprise, it barely feels any different from when he was swimming with Steve. He can do this. He can absolutely do this. He might be a spoiled little prince living in his castle, but as least he doesn’t need help to swim. He’s still stupid and pathetic, but he feels a little less stupid and pathetic than before.

He keeps a running timer in his head as he swims, knowing how soon he’ll reach the end depending on how hard he’s kicking. When he gets close, he slows down until he feels the kickboard bump into something. He re-orients himself, treading water while he moves closer to the wall. He turns so his back is against the wall and he makes his legs move him to the right until he’s touching the other lane-marker.

When he’s ready, he makes sure his grip on the kickboard is solid, and then he’s off again, pushing off the wall and kicking his feet.

He swims another lap, and along the way, he realizes he has no idea where Steve is or what he’s doing. And Bucky’s fine. He’s absolutely fine. He’s swimming on his own, getting exercise, and he’s feeling good. He grins. He hasn’t felt this good in weeks.

Damn, he’s proud of himself! Look at him—deaf, blind, only one arm and he’s swimming on his own!

He’s not so useless after all! Well, no—he’s still useless. Him being able to swim isn’t helping society or Steve, but at least he’s not as pathetic as he was yesterday.

After his fourth lap, he stops in the shallow end. “Taj?” He puts the kickboard on the deck and holds out his hand. A few seconds go by, then his hand is tapped.

“Is Steve standing somewhere, watching me?”

Rub.

Bucky grins happily. “Great! Is he swimming?”

Tap.

“Oh, fantastic! Does it look like he’s working hard? Getting good exercise?”

Tap, tap.

“Thanks, Taj! That’s great. I’m gonna keep going.”

Bucky does another lap, then he thinks he’s ready to make some adjustments. When he’s treading water in the deep end, he can actually feel that his legs are keeping him up higher than the flotation belt would on its own. He knows his legs know what they’re doing.

He wants to try swimming without the belt. The idea rolls around in his head while he swims back down to the shallow end, and by the time he’s standing by the wall, he’s made up his mind. “Taj?”

He waits for the tap. Once he got it, he says: “Do you think I can swim without the belt on? I’ll keep the kickboard with me.”

He feels Taj’s hand hesitate. Then he feels a tap, followed by a rub, and another tap.

Bucky knows what that means. “What if I only swim half way down the lane? The water ain’t that deep. If I get into trouble, I can stand most of the way.”

Tap, tap.

So he carefully unclips the flotation belt, puts it on the deck and gets himself oriented. His goggles are squished on his face, his swim shirt is pulled down, his kickboard is secure in his hand, the lane-markers  are rubbing against his right hip. He’s ready.

He pushes off the wall more carefully than he usually does, but to his surprise and joy, it only feels a little different. When he’d been on his stomach before, the belt would make his back and butt pop up out of the water a bit. Now the only part of him not underwater are his head, neck and most of his arm.

And he’s fine.

He kicks along, making sure he stays in contact with the lane-markers. He counts in his head, and when he’s about halfway down, he carefully stops, drifts over to the other lane-marker and comes back.

He stands up and holds out his hand. “Was that okay?”

Tap, tap, tap.

“Can I do the whole lane? Or no? It’s your choice, Taj. You’re the boss.”

Taj taps his hand.

“Whole lane?”

Tap.

“Great! Okay. Here we go. I’ll see you in a little while.”

He gets himself oriented and then he’s off again, kicking his way down the lane. He can feel he’s got a big smile on his face. He’s having a lot of fun and he’s feeling useful and productive for the first time in weeks.

This is great!

*             *             *

Steve had just hopped out of the water and shoved his goggles up his forehead when he’d heard Bucky calling for Taj.

Taj had been walking back and forth along the deck, keeping an eye on Bucky while Lisa kept an eye on everyone else. Taj had rounded the corner of the pool and crouched down to tap Bucky’s hand.

He’d heard Bucky ask if he can swim without the flotation belt. Steve’s heart had immediately caught in his throat and his brain had started screaming right away: _No, no, no! Danger, danger, danger!_

Bucky shouldn’t be trying that if Steve isn’t in the water with him! It’s way too dangerous!

Steve started walking towards Taj, when he saw Lisa snapping her fingers at him to get his attention. She’d been leaning against the ladder and it’s clear she’d heard what Bucky had asked Taj, and she could see the fear on Steve’s face.

“Steve, no. Let Taj deal with it.”

Steve had chewed on his lip. “It’s dangerous!”

“So is stepping out of your house. Taj and I can keep Bucky safe, we’ve proven that, haven’t we?” She’d walked up to Steve and squeezed his clenched hand. “It’s okay, he’ll be fine. Let him do this on his own. Taj will keep him safe.”

So Steve had stayed where he was, watching and listening to Taj and Bucky negotiate his desire to swim without the belt on. They’d agreed that Bucky will swim only half the lane so he’ll mostly be in shallower water.

Steve should have been happy that Bucky was talking to Taj without needing Steve’s help, and that he was so eager to try new things, but Steve’s brain had still been filled with fear and worry. He’d watched Bucky make his way to the half-way point in the lane and then carefully come back. He’d moved smoothly and confidently.

“See?” Lisa had said. “He’s doing great. You gotta relax.”

That’s much easier said than done.

As Bucky gets permission from Taj to swim the entire length of the lane without his belt on, that fear gets thicker in Steve’s throat.

He’s kind of wishing he’d never brought up the idea of swimming in the first place.

Then he stops and gives himself a mental slap.

What kind of a thought is that?! Look at Bucky—he’s happily swimming along, he’s obviously thrilled that he’s doing it on his own and this is a huge boost to his confidence which had taken such a blow with this whole job business.

And here’s Steve, being a worrier and wishing he could lock Bucky up in their apartment. He knows he can’t do that. He knows that Bucky’s safe under Lisa and Taj’s careful watch. This is something Steve will have to get used to.

The problem is he doesn’t know if he can.

*             *             *

Leon bluntly tells him that Steve is having trouble accepting Bucky’s desire to advance his swimming technique because he doesn’t like the idea of Bucky becoming more independent.

Steve scoffs at that. “That’s stupid. Besides, this ain’t got nothing to do with me. It’s got to do with Buck doing dangerous things because you upset him.”

“Bucky is going through a grieving process, which is normal and necessary in his situation, but that has nothing to do with this situation.”

“Of course it does! You upset him and that’s when he started wanting to do crazy things!”

Leon gives him an unimpressed look. “You know that’s not true. Bucky wanting to be independent has always been a core part of his personality. I don’t believe he’s been acting recklessly or out of character, despite the fact that, yes, I know he’s still upset and he’s working through some issues. But those are Bucky’s issues and they have nothing to do with your unhappiness about his swimming.”

“He _is_ acting recklessly.”

“Is he? Is he really? You’ve told me every step that he’s taken and he’s been very cautious and methodical about the whole thing. He’s taking all the right precautions and he’s listening to the lifeguards. Nothing about that is crazy, Steve. He’s doing fantastic. It’s you who’s the problem here, my friend.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “That’s baloney. But don’t worry, I’ve been letting Buck have his independence. Last Tuesday he swam the whole time without the belt and without me in the water with him.”

“Did you swim laps while he was swimming or did you sit on the edge and watch him?”

Steve glares, which answers Leon’s question.

“Did you tell him you were watching him instead of swimming?”

Steve glares again. “He didn’t ask. That ain’t my problem.”

“Steve, you know he assumed—”

“Oh, would you look at the time? I gotta go. Thank you for wasting my money in this session.”

He slams the door on his way out.

*             *             *

Bucky’s success with swimming helps improve his mood, but he still can’t get himself to do what he knows he needs to do: accept his new reality as a freeloader.

He knows he’s being ridiculous: he’s living the life of a freeloader, he has been for months and being upset over it isn’t going to actually change things, but he feels stuck in this stupid hole that he can’t climb out of.

He doesn’t want to be a freeloader, but he is one. So he’s physically accepted that reality, but mentally he hasn’t, which is stupid and he’s never been stupid and that annoys him even more, so he always ends up getting mad at himself, and then getting sad and it turns his whole day into garbage.

But on a certain day in March, the bad mood has no chance.

Steve wakes Bucky by gently touching his hand and then trailing his hand up to stroke the tip of his nose.

Steve gives him a kiss while Buck blinks himself awake, and as soon as he’s smiling at Steve, he feels Steve’s fingers busily spelling on his palm.

“Stevie, I just woke up. I can barely tell yes apart from no. You gotta spell a lot slower if you want me keeping track.”               

So Steve slows down and spells out the words slower. Even so, he needs to repeat the phrase multiple times until Bucky gets it.

H-A-P-P-Y.

B-I-R-T-H-D-A-Y.

Bucky grins. That’s right! He’s been carefully crossing off the days on his calendar. Steve had put a bunch of plastic stars and glitter on the March 10th square, so Bucky has been tracking his progress towards his birthday ever since they tore off the February page.

He’d reminded Steve about a dozen times last night that his birthday is just around the corner.

“Yes, it is! It’s my special day!”

Steve happily taps his chest multiple times.

“So, what am I getting for my birthday? Pancakes? I better be getting pancakes! And a chocolate cake. I want a chocolate cake.”

Steve brings Bucky’s hand to his lips so he can feel Steve’s laugh.

“You laugh all you want, but I want pancakes and chocolate cake. I’m officially an old man now. I need to have the right kind of food to keep me going.”

Bucky does get his pancakes. He gets to eat them in bed—with Steve’s help—and then he gets a nice birthday blow job. Steve promises he’ll make him a cake in a little while.

Steve has told him he doesn’t need to do chores on his birthday, but that doesn’t sit right with him. He barely does anything useful around the apartment anyway. He’s not going to skip out on the few chores he can do. So he puts all thoughts of his present out of his mind and focuses on doing the dishes.

When he’s done, Steve informs him that he’d received an urgent email from work and he has to take care of it, but he’ll only be ten minutes and then he’ll tell Bucky about his present. The present is on the table, but Bucky will need Steve to explain the present to him.

“That’s fine. Take your time. You’re being terrible anyway—taking the day off work for my birthday.”

Steve tells him he’ll make up the time later. Celebrating Bucky’s birthday is much more important.

Bucky doesn’t argue with him because he’s fully focused on finishing the dishes and then heading to the table to search for his present.

He finds it right way.

It’s a normal sized sheet of paper, but it’s got two folds in it. So maybe it’s a letter that Steve had taken out of the envelope? It’s thick paper, which might mean it’s something official. He can feel some raised, shiny lines on the paper, but they feel like they’re part of the paper, not something Steve had stuck on.

There’s obviously something written on the paper, but it’s not written in a way that Bucky can read.

Eventually he feels Steve touch his hand and take the paper from him. Steve asks him what is the largest amount of money he’d ever held in his hand at one time.

“What?” It’s such a bizarre question. “I don’t know. I think—I think it was a fifty dollar bill. Howard had it. I don’t remember why or when I was holding it, but that was crazy. Fifty dollars! Why?”

Steve slides the paper between two of Bucky’s fingers and spells on his palm.

He tells Bucky he’s currently holding $5 million dollars between his fingers.

Bucky bursts out laughing. “You’re hilarious. What’s the matter with you today? That’s such a dumb joke. Your humor’s turning into an old man. Now, seriously. What the hell is this piece of paper and what does it have to do with my present?”

Steve pulls his hand and helps him sit down at the table. Steve takes the paper out of his hands, puts it flat on the table and arranges Bucky’s hand so his index finger is sticking out while the rest of his fingers are curled up.

Steve brings Bucky’s index finger to the paper and slowly pulls it across a small portion.

He tells him it says United States Treasury.

In the center of the paper it says: James Buchanan Barnes.

And a little below that, it says $5,000,000.

Bucky blinks. “I—I don’t get it. Is this real…? Or are you trying to be funny? Maybe it’s the pancakes but I ain’t keeping up with you, Rogers.”

Steve squeezes his hand. He’s quiet for a moment, then he apologizes.

“For what?”

He explains that he’s been so busy thinking about this present that he forgot that Bucky doesn’t know anything about it.

“Right. And are you gonna tell me about it or…?”

Steve tells him the paper is a letter from the government, officially acknowledging that he is entitled to his military back pay, which has been deposited into the bank.

Bucky blinks. None of those words really register. “My what?”

Military back pay.

“I—what?”

Steve gives his hand a shake. He wants Bucky paying more attention. “I’m trying, Rogers, I’m trying. What do you mean ‘military back pay’? Is this pay I was owed while I was still presumed missing?”

Steve taps his hand. He explains that the military had switched Bucky’s payments over to benefit payments when he’d been declared killed in action. Those had gone to his parents.

But when the government had realized that Bucky hadn’t died and he’d been a prisoner of war for seventy years, the law states that Bucky is owed his normal military pay for all those years.

Plus, he’s owed special compensation for being a prisoner of war.

Plus, there’s the seventy years of inflation, and the interest which would have accrued if he had been getting paid normally and kept the money in a bank.

Bucky thinks he’s gonna fall off his chair.

Steve isn’t kidding.

_He isn’t kidding._

“Are you seriously telling me the military is giving me 5 million dollars?”

Tap, tap, tap.

“Five. Million. Dollars?!”

Tap, tap, tap.

Steve tells him the money is already in the bank account.

“Stevie….I don’t even…what the hell are we gonna do with that amount of money?”

Steve tells him he can do anything he wants with it. But that’s not the point. The point is that whether or not Bucky will ever have a paying job again, between both of their military pay outs, they don’t have to ever worry about unexpected bills again.

That’s…that’s such a crazy thought that Bucky feels like he’s gonna pass out.

His entire life has been dictated by the threat of unexpected bills or the presence of already accumulated bills.

Since the age of twelve, he’d been focused on just keeping his head—and the heads of his loved ones— above water: keeping a roof over their heads, keeping food in their bellies, getting them medicine if they were sick. He’d been an expert at figuring out how to use their meager funds to keep themselves as comfortable as possible, despite never having enough money for everything they needed.

He’d known which shop owners could be convinced to give them more credit and which shop employees he could flirt with to get any expired items which were going to be thrown out. He’d known which nurses to flirt with to get them to forget about a certain hospital bill for another week. He’d known which apartment buildings had landlords who could be convinced through…manual methods…to give them a few more days to pay rent.

The idea of not having to worry about that ever again is overwhelming.

Very overwhelming.

He forces himself to move past that. It’ll take a while to sink in, that’s for sure. He’s more curious about how this happened. “Did—did the military just decide to pay me? That doesn’t sound like the military I love to hate.”

Steve rubs his hand. His hand is shaking a bit. He’s laughing.

Steve tells him that he and Natasha had worked for weeks to get the military to pay Bucky what he’s owed. It’s a long story that Steve can tell him about later if he wants to know the details, but that’s not important. The letter had actually arrived a week ago and the money had been deposited a few days earlier, but Steve wanted to keep it a surprise until Bucky’s birthday.

That fills Bucky with emotion. “Really? You and Nat did all that work for me?”

Tap, tap.

Bucky reaches out a hand and finds Steve’s shoulder. “Come here.” He pulls Steve close and kisses his neck. “Thank you, sweetheart. You know—you _know_ —how much this means to me. This is amazing. Thank you.”

Bucky lets it sink in for a few minutes.

Then he has an epiphany. He pulls back from Steve. “Wait a second—is this why I signed all those mysterious forms? Is this the surprise?”

Tap, tap.

Bucky grins and pulls Steve back for a tighter hug. “You sneaky rascal! Oh, this was an awesome birthday present, Stevie. Thank you.”

*             *             *

Bucky has the same reaction to letting the money stay in the bank as Steve had. Steve had explained that most of his military pay is with an investment company, which also doesn’t sit well with Bucky. Like Steve, he hates not being in control of their money. They both know first-hand how quickly things can go wrong when trusting people leave their money with greedy, stupid people.

But he knows Steve regularly replenishes their stockpiles of cash hidden throughout the apartment, and that’s what’s most important. Plus, Steve’s working now, so even if the banks and the investment companies implode—again—they’ll still have access to funds, and they have the emergency cash to tide them over if things really fall apart. Natasha has tried to explain to both of them that the government has put laws in place so catastrophic loses can’t happen anymore, but Bucky trusts the government even less than banks.

He likes not having to depend on the military money very much, but that doesn’t mean he wants it sitting in the bank. Between the banks and the investment companies, the banks are the bigger evil in Bucky’s eyes, so he wants it moved as soon as possible.

Steve brings Bucky to his financial adviser and they create a joint investment account for both of them and put their combined military pay-outs in there. When Steve tells him that they’ve got about 10 million dollars sitting in there, it doesn’t really mean anything to him. That number is completely out of his realm of understanding.

What he knows is that they’ve got enough money stockpiled in the apartment to cover three months of bills, and if things go wrong—which they always eventually do—they can easily use those three months to find a cheaper apartment and cut down on their other expenses. They’ve done it before and they’ll probably have to do it again, but that’s part of life.

At first he thinks this will help make him feel better about his freeloader status. They really are financially secure, so Bucky should be happy with the way things are.

He doesn’t need to be bringing in an extra income, at least—not until things fall apart.

Until then, they’re fine.

And that _should_ make him feel better…

…except it doesn’t.

He realizes Steve was right: this whole thing has nothing to do with the amount of money he’s earning or not. This has to do with Bucky Barnes not liking the idea of being a freeloader.

That’s it. That’s the problem.

And the other problem is that he doesn’t have a choice about being a freeloader.

And then he’s back to being upset and annoyed at the entire situation, despite having $5 million sitting in an investment account.

*             *             *

But as time goes by, he slowly finds himself getting used to this new idea. He still doesn’t like it, but the more often he reminds him that this is his new reality, the less raw and hurtful it feels. He hates the idea of not being able to just go out and find whatever job needs doing, he still feels useless, spoiled and pathetic, but none of those emotions make his heart ache as much as they had a few weeks ago.

He knows this is his new reality. That’s a fact. And he’s not going to be one of those people who sits around, living in a fantasy land. He’d seen too many people like that during the Depression.

There were so many people who were in complete denial about their circumstances. They’d be walking around, smiling and happy, telling everybody that ‘things will work themselves out’ all the way until the landlord literally kicked them out of their apartment for not paying rent.

He’d seen dozens of them: standing on the sidewalk, suitcases in their hands, crying children clinging to them, and both the husband and wife staring at each other and the apartment building they’d just been evicted from—as if they were waiting to wake up from a horrible dream.

He’d always go to the Rogers’ apartment and tell Mrs. R about it. She’d sigh sadly and tell him: “Wanting things and getting things are two different things, Bucky. You have to remember that.”

It’s not enough to want to have a job. He knows that. He’s seen that his entire life.

He needs to face reality, grab this situation and figure out how to live with it. That’s what Mrs. R would want him to do. But that’s his problem: he has no idea how to live with it. Steve keeps trying to make suggestions about volunteering, but every time he brings it up, all Bucky hears is: failure, failure, failure.

Steve has told him a hundred times that he could go to school or learn how to use a computer, but he needs to be fluent with braille before he can do that. And not only is that limitation upsetting, but that amount of pressure makes him completely unable to focus on his braille lessons the way he should. The less progress he manages to make with braille, the worse he feels about the whole situation, which leads to him being able to focus on braille even less.

One afternoon, Bucky is working on one of his knitting projects, when an idea suddenly occurs to him.

Doing a physical job is one way of making money. He can also sell things! And he happens to be pretty good at doing the loom knitting by now.

“Steve? I can sell things I knit, can’t I? I’m good at it and I make nice things, don’t I?”

He feels Steve’s hand twitch and tense, which is never a good sign. Then Steve tells him he’d already considered that option but realized that Bucky wouldn’t like it, which is why he didn’t tell—

“Hold on. Stop, stop, stop.” He yanks his hand back from Steve, feeling annoyed again. “You realized this was an option and you decided to dismiss it without talking to me about it? Rogers! We’ve talked about this!”

Then he’s annoyed at Steve so he refuses to talk to him. He ignores Steve’s attempts to apologize by spelling on his hand, arm, leg or anywhere else he touches before Bucky swats at his hand and moves away.

But after a few hours, Bucky realizes that being upset with Steve for making the same stupid mistake again won’t solve anything. So he tells him he’s still annoyed and he expects better from Steve, but he wants to know why Steve didn’t tell him.

Grabbing the chance to explain his blunder, Steve starts spelling quickly. He tells Bucky that selling items isn’t as straightforward as it was in their day. Bucky can’t just go sit outside with a little table and sell his items. Not only would that be dangerous—given his disabilities—but the city has laws about such things. No matter how or where Bucky wants to sell things, he’ll need somebody’s help to deal with the paperwork and technology. And Steve knows Bucky wants to do something that he can do by himself.

Bucky thinks it over and realizes that Steve’s right. He hates the idea of somebody having to help him because of his stupid disabilities. It feels so…belittling. Like he’s a little child who needs his parents to help him do something because he’s too stupid to do it on his own.

No, he doesn’t like that idea at all. He’s actually glad that Steve didn’t bring up this idea earlier because he would have just yelled at him once the limitations had been pointed out. But he’s still annoyed at Steve for making decisions without including him—and thus, breaking their new rules—so he doesn’t tell Steve that he doesn’t really mind this slip up.

But he does tell Steve that he agrees with him. He wants to find work that he can do on his own without other people having to help him.

So once again, he’s back at the beginning with no options and no clear path forward.

His new wings are ready to fly, but he can’t figure out how to get them moving.

He knows he’s stuck and he isn’t going to have much luck moving forward on his own. Steve can’t help him, he can’t help himself, and he refuses to become one of those silly deluded people who cling to a fantasy at the expense of their loved ones.

He only has one option left. One lifeline that will hopefully offer him help and hope.

“Steve, can you make me an appointment with Leon, please?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leon will talk a LOT of sense into Mr. Barnes in the next chapter, I promise!


	77. Chapter 77

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all those who have been yelling at Bucky about how he’s not seeing obvious solutions right in front of his face (especially LisaMichelle, Secondhandsunlight, Nacty, 0123456789_only, and Thelobster_29) this is the chapter you’ve been waiting for!

Bucky spends the first few minutes of his session apologizing to Leon and chit-chatting about other things to give Leon the chance to get used to doing the manual spelling again. He can tell from the older man’s hesitant finger movements that he hasn’t been practicing much lately. He’s making more mistakes than he usually does, but Bucky can figure things out.

When Leon’s spelling is becoming more fluid, Bucky dives right in. “I wanna know how I can be okay with not working.”

Leon tells him he needs to slow down a little. Has Bucky considered why the idea of not working has upset him so much?

That’s an easy question to answer. “Because it’s something I’ve always done. It’s been real rough getting used to the idea that I won’t be able to work anymore.”

Leon wants to know if he’s realized that he’s having such a difficult time with this issue because it’s allowed him to truly grieve for the losses he’s suffered, and that’s a difficult process.

That makes Bucky pause. He hadn’t considered that at all. He’s gotten upset about his lack of sight and hearing before, but those dark periods never lasted long. They were mostly triggered by having one of those stupid dreams in which he can see and hear. He’d never really felt the need to grieve for what he’d lost. By losing his sight and hearing, he’d gained freedom. Well, not complete freedom, but a freedom that allows him to live with Steve and spend most of his time doing what he wants and going where he wants.

He thought his brain had understood that the sacrifice had been worth it, which is why this low period had been so difficult for him to cope with. Not being able to work was an upsetting prospect, but he’d begun to wonder why the idea of that had immediately made him tumble into such a dark abyss in which he thinks he’s useless and pathetic.

“So you think my grumminess has been a result of me grieving?”

Tap, tap.

Leon tells him there are different stages of grief. People don’t move through them in predictable ways, but in general, they’re a good guide. Bucky had left the bargaining and denial stages very quickly when reality had sunk in. That’s not a surprise because Bucky’s a rational person. But then he’d gotten stuck on the anger and depression stages. But that’s fine. He needed to give himself time to grieve. Without that, he would constantly get stuck back at the beginning of the process. And in order to learn how to use his new wings, Bucky needs to let himself grieve properly, which is what he’s been doing.

“So me feeling better now is good?”

Leon wants him to describe how he feels.

“It’s—it ain’t as raw or as painful as it was before. I’m not as angry about it. I’m still annoyed, but I ain’t so angry. I know my disabilities are permanent and I gotta find a way to live a good life despite them. I can’t undo ‘em and being angry and sad about it won’t help me feel better. Well, you were saying that maybe me feeling sad and angry was actually helpful, so that means it wasn’t a waste of time. But I think I’ve used up most of my anger and sadness now.”

Tap, tap, tap. Leon says that Bucky’s processed his losses and his brain has become more accustomed to his new reality. Being forced to accept a situation usually leads to physical acceptance, but not emotional. Bucky is now ready to tackle the emotional acceptance stage of his grief.

“Okay, so we’re back to my original question. How can I be okay with not working? How can I accept that reality?”

Leon asks him if having a job is the only way for a person to be working.

“Huh?”

Leon’s hand rubs over his palm, erasing his words. His fingers hesitate, then he tries again, re-phrasing his question: Does Bucky think a person is only contributing to their family if they’re providing financial support?

“Well, of course. I mean—bills have to be paid, food has to be bought. If a family ain’t making enough money, they’re gonna suffer. I’ve seen it a thousand times. Everybody’s gotta be focused on making money cause you never know when somebody’s gonna lose their job.”

Leon points out that Bucky is applying his Depression-era thinking to his current situation. That’s fine for some things, but it’s being overly cautious for their current situation.

“I don’t think so. Steve could lose his job at any point. Lord knows, the man hates his job anyway. It’s only a matter of time.”

Yes, but even if Steve loses his job, doesn’t he have a good chance of finding another one pretty quickly?

“He’ll have to compete with everyone else. That’s always the danger. If everybody’s got the same skills, then nobody stands out.”

But Steve has special qualifications, doesn’t he? He has a military background, he’s good with security matters, he’s a talented artist. He wouldn’t have a very tough time finding a new job.

The man has a point. “Alright, fine.”

Plus, they have their back pay in the investment accounts. Yes, the money could disappear, but there are laws in place these days to prevent huge losses from happening. Those laws were put into place because of the Depression because society didn’t want to repeat any of that. The money could decrease, but the investment company is supposed to anticipate these changes and take corrective action. That’s why Steve is paying them management fees every single year.

Bucky knows all this. He and Steve have done their research. “But I still hate that I ain’t contributing to my family. Just cause I _can’t_ contribute don’t mean I’m _okay_ with not contributing. Being a cripple’s no excuse—in my books at least—so I wanna contribute, but I can’t and I don’t know how to move past that.”

He feels Leon’s fingers hesitate in his palm, and that’s when Bucky remembers. “Shit, sorry! I meant to say disabled. Being _disabled’s_ no excuse.”

He realizes he’d been using the word ‘cripple’ a lot lately and he really needs to work on that. But when he’s really upset, he thinks he can give himself a break. He’s barely aware of what he’s saying when he’s upset and he can’t hear what he’s saying anyway.

A small voice in his head sternly reminds him that that’s no excuse—which Bucky knows is true. Whatever.

Leon tells him that’s his problem: Bucky is refusing to acknowledge that there are other types of contributions that are equally important.

“Equally important to bringing in money? That’s baloney.”

Leon squeezes his hand, then keeps spelling. Again—Bucky is using his Depression-era thinking. He and Steve aren’t at the point where they have to scrounge for every penny they can find to keep from being homeless or starving. If they were in that situation again, then sure, contributing financially must be the number one priority. But they aren’t in those circumstances right now. Chances are good that they’ll never be in those circumstances again for the rest of their lives.

“So you’re saying I can contribute to my family in other ways? Not by making money?”

Tap, tap.

“How? And don’t tell me I contribute enough just by cuddling Steve every day. That’s silly. It makes me sound like a useless child. Just cause I’m crip—disabled don’t mean I’m gonna put up with being treated like a child.”

Then Leon asks him something unexpected: Did he consider Mrs. R’s methods of supporting her family childish? Not her financial support, but the other methods.

“What other methods?”

Leon doesn’t bothering replying, because he knows that Bucky knows the answer to that.

And Bucky immediately realizes that he does know the answer. The fact that Mrs. R had supported a sickly son for nearly twenty years through the Depression was astounding enough. But Bucky knows she did a lot more than that. She took care of Steve when he was sick, she cooked and cleaned and sewed clothes, she was always ready to listen to whatever troubles they had, or sing their praises if they accomplished something good. Even after putting in long shifts at the ward and cooking and cleaning and sewing once she got home, she’d always have time to sketch with Steve, play games with them, or talk to Bucky about the book he was reading.

Leon asks him what he remembers most about Mrs. R: does he remember how she paid the rent, or does he remember how happy he’d feel after telling her about something great happening to him?

“The second one. That mattered more. Way more. I mean, her paying the rent was really number one, cause otherwise she and Steve would have been homeless, but that ain’t what I remember most.”

Tap, tap. But if Steve is taking care of their bills and making sure they’re never going to be homeless, why isn’t it okay for both him and Steve to provide emotional support for each other?

“Cause it ain’t—it ain’t enough. I wanna actually do something that Steve ain’t doing. I wanna actually help him.”

Leon points out that the emotional support he provides Steve is one of the most important things in Steve’s life, but he knows what Bucky is trying to say. He wants to find a tangible way to support his family.

“Yeah. And if I can’t do that by working, then I don’t know what to do.”

That’s his problem, Leon tells him. He’s equating ‘working’ with having a job. But there’s more than one way to work, isn’t there? Look at his own parents as an example: Sure, there were times when both of them were working, but what about times when his father was working and his mother was at home, taking care of his sisters and the household? She did all the cooking, cleaning, washing, sewing etc. Were her contributions at home worth any less than when she was working a job outside the home? Was she not part of the team that kept their family going, together with his father?

“I—That’s a good point. But Steve does most of the chores.”

Does Bucky think he can do some of those chores?

It’s on the tip of his tongue to say that yes, of course he can!—but it’s not that simple. “Steve don’t even let me wash the knives, never mind use them.”

Leon tells him that there are ways to cook these days that don’t involve a knife.

“What, like making a bowl of cereal?”

Rub, rub. Leon tells him there are many different types of food these days. Bucky could do research. There are many types of food that easy to prepare and Bucky wouldn’t have to use dangerous cooking implements or procedures to prepare them. But that’s beside the point—Bucky needs to discuss this situation with Steve and move forward from there.

“Alright. But that—I mean, if I can do more of the chores at home, that’ll be nice. But I don’t wanna spend the rest of my day sitting around and playing games.”

Leon tells him that Bucky has a lot he can be doing with his time other than playing games.

Bucky snorts. “Like what?”

Leon’s reply is simple: ‘Learn how to use your wings.’

It’s on the tip of Bucky’s tongue to retort that him learning how to use his cane better and read braille so he can maybe learn how to use a deafblind computer one day won’t actually help him contribute to their household.

But then he pauses, because he realizes that’s not true. Learning how to use his wings will help make him more independent. If he’s more independent, then Steve doesn’t have to help him with so many things,  and that means they’ll avoid a Pickerton situation!

And that’s always been Bucky’s highest priority goal, hasn’t it?

Leon’s right. Bucky’s been thinking about this whole thing the wrong way. He’s been so selfish—constantly thinking about his own wants and needs, and forgetting about Steve’s wants and needs completely.

Jesus!

Leon must see the panic on his face because he squeezes Bucky’s hand and tells him not to worry. Steve understands how hard this is on Bucky and Steve is willing to shoulder more of the load than he usually does. But that’s a dangerous permanent solution, isn’t it?

Bucky nods. “Yeah. Yeah, it is. We can’t have that.”

Rub, rub. And Bucky has already acknowledged that he wants to do more of the physical work around the home, but he’s ignoring another obvious solution: the more independent Bucky is, the less Steve has to act as a caregiver and the more time Steve can spend just being his partner.

And doing his share of chores is only a small part of the puzzle. Bucky needs to find more activities he can do that keep him happy and busy but don’t involve Steve constantly helping him. Has Bucky considered volunteering?

Oh, Jesus Christ. That stupid thing again. “Steve mentioned it and I don’t like it. It feels like I’m giving up.”

Why? Because he wouldn’t be paid for it?

“Yeah.”

Leon tells him that’s exactly why volunteer work is so important in society. Because they’re the kind of jobs that need to be done, but the organizations who run those things don’t have the money to pay people for that help. If they could, they would. But because most people need to be focused on taking jobs that bring in money, most organizations desperately need volunteers.

That sounds…not so bad.

“So you want me to help sort donations at the church?”

Leon hesitates, then tells him he’s free to do whatever volunteer work he wants. If helping out at a church is what he wants to do, he can.

“Wait. You’re saying there’s other types of volunteer work?”

There’s lots. Lots and lots and lots. Bucky will be limited due to his disabilities, but because the positions aren’t paid, many volunteers are able to adapt their positions to fit with their schedules—or in Bucky’s case, their physical abilities.

“And that volunteer work is important?”

Very. In fact, many of the most vulnerable members of society rely on assistance from volunteers. If Bucky is looking to do meaningful work, volunteering is a fantastic way to contribute to society. Not to mention that it’ll give Bucky something to do and he won’t need Steve’s help to do it.

For the first time in weeks, Bucky finds himself actually feeling excited.

This could work. This could absolutely work!

The future no longer looks like a dark abyss. He can now see pathways in the darkness, leading to bright lights at the end. He has a plan to follow, in fact, he has several plans now! He’s got multiple pathways he can walk down!

Then Leon drops another bombshell on him. He tells him that all of these things that they’d discussed are very important and should be on his priority list, but if Bucky absolutely wants to contribute financially to the household, then Bucky can start doing that whenever he wants.

Bucky frowns. “What? Have you been asleep for the past few months, Leon? We’ve been over this. Nobody’s gonna give me a job doing physical work and I can’t talk to people and I can’t use a computer. I need to learn braille before I can use a computer and then I gotta learn stuff and when I’m an old man, I can work for 2 days before they make me retire.”

Leon is rubbing his hand, disagreeing with him. He asks Bucky if he’d be interested in selling his knitting creations.

Bucky sighs internally, but he carefully doesn’t yank his hand out of Leon’s grasp. He doesn’t want to be rude, but having this idea brought up again is making his good mood disappear.

“I know I could do that, but somebody would have to help me. I can’t just set up a table outside and start selling my stuff. Steve says the city has rules now. And anyway, I can’t talk to people, it’s dangerous and I can’t even do simple stuff like count money when people hand me a wad of bills. I’d make a fool outta myself and I don’t like that. But I don’t want somebody having to help me just cause I’m a cripple.”

Shit.

“Sorry! Disabled.”

Leon pauses for a minute and Bucky is preparing himself to gloat over being right for the first time in the entire session—it’ll be nice to have one win over Leon!—but then Leon tells him that Bucky is looking at this the wrong way.

“What? No, I ain’t. I’d need help, Leon. We both know that and you’re living in fantasy land if you think I don’t.”

Leon’s rubbing his hand again. He tells Bucky that he’s so accustomed to working for other people that he’s applying that same thinking to running his own business. If he’s working for somebody else, then it’s understood that he was hired to do a specific task which he shouldn’t need help with. But anybody who runs their own business needs help with certain things. There are way too many things for one person to handle everything, especially as the business grows. In fact, that’s how Bucky had gotten his previous jobs, isn’t it? Those people who created their own businesses grew the business to a point where they needed help getting all the tasks done, so they hired Bucky.

Bucky frowns, listening carefully. This is starting to sound…not so bad. Again, Leon is making very good points.

Leon uses his own business as an example. He asks Bucky what Leon needs to spend his time doing in order to make money with his business.

“You need to be doing therapy sessions.”

Tap, tap, tap. But if Leon spends half his time doing therapy sessions and the other half booking appointments, sending clients their bills, paying the bills related to the office building, updating his website and creating new ads to put in the paper then he’d be making a lot less money. Once his business grew to a point where he needed help, that’s when he’d hired his receptionist to deal with his scheduling, billing his clients and paying his bills. In fact, there are certain things that Leon has absolutely no expertise in, so he’d hired people to help him with those things from the start. He knows very little about taxes or about website design or advertising, so he uses the services of other companies who do those things for him. And aren’t those the tasks that Bucky needs help with? Computer use and dealing with customers?

Bucky should be spending his time doing what will make him money: knitting. But the rest can be done by other people.

Bucky’s barely breathing as he tracks the words Leon is spelling. He’s drinking it all up and every word is healing another tear in his confidence. He’d already gotten a big boost from Leon’s other ideas, but this is fantastic!

“So you think I can actually make money doing that?”

Tap, tap. Steve’s showed Leon some pictures of Bucky’s creations and he thinks they look great. People would pay for such handcrafted things with no hesitation. Leon does caution him about getting too excited. He’ll have to get help setting up a website and getting customers will be difficult at first. But once word starts to spread, Bucky should be able to make a nice little sum of money. It won’t be much, but it’ll be something.

And even if they disregard the amount of money that Bucky will bring in, he’ll be achieving his most important objectives: using his time productively, engaging in an activity that doesn’t require Steve’s constant assistance, and making himself feel good.

Bucky feels a smile on his face. Oh, this is good. This is so good!

He can find volunteering work, he can do chores and he can create a job for himself! Oh, his days are about to get much busier and his wings are about to get much more exercise!

But Leon is gently squeezing his hand and tells him to slow down—apparently, he can see the thoughts racing through Bucky’s mind. He reminds Bucky that all of these ideas: doing chores, creating his own business or finding volunteer work are long-term goals that may not be achieved within a few days. But Bucky needs to work harder at finding things that he can do without Steve but that provide him joy and fulfillment on a daily basis.

“I agree, but what?”

Leon’s response is instantaneous: ‘Braille’.

Bucky’s about to retort that learning how to use a computer to get a good paying job is a very far-off goal and he’d rather spend his time doing the other things on his list, and learning how to use a computer is the main point of learning braille.

Then he realizes how wrong that statement is!

Suddenly, Bucky remembers the whole point of learning braille: so he can read books! All of this fuss about a deafblind computer and the job issue and everything else had turned all thoughts of braille into an annoying chore that he had to get done with a reward waiting for him in the distant future.

But learning braille is about much more than that! It’ll allow him to read books again.

And if he can read books, he can keep himself entertained for hours without needing Steve to look after him. And Steve wouldn’t be worrying over Bucky’s safety or if he’s having any problems, because sitting quietly and reading is a skill that Bucky has mastered long ago.

Well—the actual reading part needs to be re-learned, but Bucky knows he can do it. In fact, he realizes he’s been looking at this deafblind computer situation the wrong way too! The lady from Helen’s Center had promised Steve that deafblind computers exist which Bucky can learn how to use at home. So using a computer won’t just be something he can do as part of a job! He knows Steve can access any information he wants on his computer, and if Bucky can use a computer, then he can get access to all that information too!

Which means he’ll have enough information to read to keep him busy and happy for the rest of his life. That will definitely avert a Pickerton situation!

For the first time in weeks, Bucky feels excited and motivated. He has a plan! He finally has a plan! He has short term goals and long term goals and he can get started as soon as he gets home!

The abyss is gone, and in its place is a bright field, filled with multiple pathways that are just waiting for Bucky to walk down them.

“Leon, sir, I think you’ve just given me the kick in the butt I needed.”

He can tell the second Leon starts laughing when his hand starts shaking on Bucky’s palm.


	78. Chapter 78

Bucky’s so excited and his brain is so full with thinking over his new plan that he can’t wait to share it all with Steve. As soon as he opens the door to Leon’s office, he’s walking out into the waiting room, sweeping with his cane and calling for Steve.

“Rogers?! Guess what? I’ve got plans! I’ve got so many plans and I wanna talk about ‘em right now and we gotta get started right away!”

When a hand gently touches his, he’s a bit startled, until he extends a few fingers from the cane handle and touches the familiar bracelet. It seems that Steve has been pulled off the couch by Bucky’s excitement.

Bucky reaches up and feels Steve’s big smile, knowing he has a similar smile on his own face. Steve grabs Bucky’s hand and squeezes and shakes it, projecting his own excitement at seeing Bucky so happy.

And that fills Bucky’s heart with a warm glow. Steve is happy that Bucky’s happy and he’s as excited about getting started on Bucky’s plans as Bucky is.

Fumbling around, Bucky grabs the handle of his cane that’s been dangling from his wrist strap. “Come on, Rogers! We gotta get home and I gotta tell you everything! Hurry! Put your listening ears on, cause I’ve got a lot to catch you up on!”

Bucky carefully decides which topics he wants to discuss on the train and which ones wouldn’t be appropriate to discuss in public because they’ll probably lead to a little arguing. Learning braille is definitely something Steve has wanted Bucky to do and it’s an easy topic to bring up, so that’s what Bucky starts with on the train.

“Leon reminded me that learning braille ain’t just about going to school or doing other things that might never happen. He reminded me that if I can read books, I’ll be happy and busy, which will keep you happy. Maybe I can even learn how to use one of those deafblind computers, and then I can do even more stuff without your help.”

He feels Steve’s hand shift, as if he wants to start spelling something, but Bucky holds onto his fingers. “I know you don’t mind helping me, Stevie. But there’s a difference between you helping me do things that I’m always gonna need help with, and stuff that I could really do on my own if I work hard and learn how. And keeping me entertained all day ain’t your responsibility. We’ve been over this. Adopting Maggie was great and I’ve got my plants and my projects, but I need to be doing more things. And learning how to read braille will really help. So I gotta buckle down and start working real hard at learning braille. I ain’t gonna be a grump about it and I ain’t gonna complain if it’s hard—I just gotta do it.”

He releases Steve’s fingers and lets him talk. Steve tells him he’ll help Bucky with whatever Bucky needs help with, but he’ll let Bucky stay in control. Steve won’t force him to practice braille or to move slower or faster.

“That’s good! That’s what we need. So learning braille is a short term goal that I wanna work on, but Leon made me figure out that I’ve got some long term goals too.”

Steve wants to know what those goals are.

“So we were both being a little dumb. You remember we considered having me sell stuff that I make? Like the stuff I knit?”

Tap, tap. Bucky knows Steve has noticed that Bucky said ‘we considered’, even though Steve hadn’t involved Bucky in his early considerations of that topic, but Bucky has no desire to bring that argument up again. It’s in the past and he’s now fully focused on the present and the future.

Before Bucky can start talking, Steve squeezes his hand and tells him somebody else needs to take Steve’s seat on the train so Steve has to stand up. That’s alright. Steve can hold onto the bars with one hand and spell on Bucky’s hand with the other, but it’s a little slower than normal.

“You remember I didn’t wanna do that cause I didn’t like the idea of others having to help me? Well, Leon pointed out that everybody needs help when they run their own business. I just might need a little more help than others, but that’s okay. He says he doesn’t do any computer stuff and he don’t need to count the money people pay him. Other people do that.”

Steve is happily tapping, jostling and squeezing Bucky’s hand as he talks, letting him know he’s listening without interrupting.

Bucky’s about to ask Steve what he thinks about this whole idea and whether he’d be willing to help Bucky or if they should ask the people at Helen’s Center if they can get somebody who can help Bucky, but Steve interrupts him and starts spelling rapidly.

Well, as rapidly as he can when he’s standing on a moving train and his fingers are moving every which way.

He asks Bucky when he wants to get started.

That makes Bucky laugh. “Hold on, Rogers. It ain’t that simple. I’m gonna need a lot of help. I can start knitting as soon as we’re home and not stop until I’m an old man, but that won’t get any of my stuff sold to people. We gotta get that stuff all figured out. And I don’t want this to be something that you gotta add to your list of chores.”

That makes Steve squeeze his hand very hard and start rubbing frantically. Then Steve asks if they can please continue this conversation at home, because Steve wants to say things that will probably end with kissing and while that’s no longer illegal to do on the train while surrounded by people, it’s not something that their fellow subway riders would appreciate.

The timing turns out to be good, because the next stop is theirs and they can’t have long conversations while they’re walking anyway.

Once they’re home, they get changed and Bucky washes his cane while Steve checks on Maggie. When they’re done, they meet on the couch and Steve immediately crawls into Bucky’s lap and starts spelling a mile a minute.

He tells Bucky that helping him with his business wouldn’t be a chore. Not at all. Steve would be honored to help Bucky and it would be fun.

Bucky grins. “Really?”

Steve presses his face against Bucky’s and kisses him. He fumbles for Bucky’s hand to keep spelling. He demands to know when they’ve ever done something together that wasn’t fun.

“Uh. How about the war? And being in the hospital together when you were sick? And those nights we spent sleeping in the park when we didn’t have anywhere else to go? I could keep going…”

Steve presses a smile to his cheek and gently smacks his hip. Bucky chuckles and rubs his nose against Steve’s. “Don’t be mad just cause I destroyed your attempts at being a sap with a bunch of facts. You’re just jealous that I’m smarter than you.”

Steve pinches his side, forcing Bucky to let out a yelp and smack Steve’s hand away with a laugh. “Punk! Mags, look at what this punk is doing to me!”

Grabbing Bucky’s shirt, Steve gives it a shake and wiggles in his lap.

Bucky’s smile sobers a bit. “Alright, alright. I get your point, I do. You don’t mind helping me and I agree that it’ll probably be fun. So does that mean we can give this a try?”

Steve finds Bucky’s hand and rubs his knuckles with his thumb. He’s thinking. Finally, he starts spelling. He tells Bucky that he wants this to be Bucky’s project. He knows how badly Bucky wants more control in his life and he wants to be in charge of as many things as possible. While Steve is happy to help him with whatever he wants, he thinks it’s a good idea for this to remain Bucky’s business and Steve will just be his helper. Just like in the rest of their lives when Steve is Bucky’s eyes and ears, it’ll be Steve’s job to wait for instructions from Bucky and then carry them out. But Bucky will be the boss.

Bucky grins. “So you’ll be my employee? I gotta warn you, I ain’t got any money right now so your pay’s probably gonna be a bit light.”

As soon as he says it, he realizes that’s not true. In fact, he could hire a whole bunch of people to help him and pay them full salaries with his military back pay, but he wasn’t being serious anyway. And Steve must know that, but decides to run with it anyway.

Steve presses a grin against Bucky’s face. He suggestively rubs his thumb over Bucky’s lips and then goes to find his hand again, but Bucky starts laughing before he even starts spelling. He knows exactly what the dirty minded rascal was implying.

“Well, if I’m gonna pay you in sexual favors, then you better be prepared to work your tail off. My favors are very, very high quality.”

Steve responds with: ‘That’s what you think’, which makes Bucky burst out laughing, but that also means he needs to grab this rude punk’s shirt and wrestle him down on the couch until Steve’s pinned underneath him and Bucky can tickle him in revenge.

He can feel Steve twisting and vibrating from laughter as he grabs for Bucky’s hand. Refusing to admit defeat, Bucky leans down and gently bites whatever part of Steve he gets his teeth on—which happens to be a mouthful of his shirt and his chest underneath. That earns Bucky a light smack on the side of the head, which just makes him laugh harder.

“You ain’t letting me punish you for your sass, Rogers! That’s a terrible display of manners. Mrs. R, would you look at this! It’s shameful.”

Then Steve’s yanking Bucky down so he’s plastered over Steve’s chest with his face buried in Steve’s neck. Steve’s arms and legs wrap around him and hold him tight.

Bucky relaxes, smelling Steve’s scent all around him and feeling the vibrations in his throat as Steve talks. His chest is overflowing with love and happiness. It’s such a fantastic change from the dark sadness and anger that had lived there for weeks.

Oh, he’s missed Steve so much! And he knows Steve’s clinginess is coming from a similar place. The weeks Bucky had spent grieving and upset had put up a wall between them, which has now fully come down.

“I love you, Stevie,” Bucky mumbles into Steve’s neck. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a grump lately. Leon says I was grieving, which is probably true. I feel a lot better now and I think that the grieving was necessary, but I know these weeks have been hard on you too.”

Steve grabs Bucky’s hand and presses it to his lips so Bucky can hear him talk. ‘I love you, Buck’.

Then Steve is shifting down a bit and lifting Bucky’s chin. They shift and slide around a bit on the narrow couch, noses and chins bumping together until their lips finally align and they’re kissing, their legs still tangled together.

There’s plenty more to talk about, but kissing Steve is a perfect way to end this great day.

*             *             *

Bucky waits until the next morning to bring up his other two long-term goals: volunteering and doing chores. He knows he doesn’t have to bring up either of them right now, since they could concentrate on his knitting business first, but he doesn’t like the idea of not sharing his plans with Steve. Not being in each other’s business at all times isn’t something they’re familiar with or enjoy.

He knows Steve won’t like the chore issue, so Bucky wants to use the volunteering part to salvage the conversation in case things move in a bad direction.

After finishing washing the breakfast morning dishes, making himself another cup of coffee and looking after Maggie, Bucky goes to Steve’s desk and feels for the cup. The spoon is there, so Steve can be disturbed.

“Stevie? Can we finish talking about what Leon and I discussed?”

Immediately, something bumps into Bucky’s side—maybe Steve’s chair or his knees?—and then Steve’s hand is grabbing his own and happily jostling it and tugging on it.

Grinning, Bucky follows the pull and crawls onto Steve’s lap, making himself comfortable. “Okay, so Leon had two other really great ideas for me. They won’t bring in extra money, but they’ll let be more independent and keep my happy and busy.”

Steve happily taps on his hand.

Bucky knows that happiness won’t last for long, but he dives right in. “Leon said I should talk to you about doing chores.”

The second he says it, he can feel Steve tense. His legs and hands stiffen and his fingertips dig into Bucky’s palm.

“Listen, calm down. I don’t mean I wanna start washing the knives or using the stove tomorrow. I think I can eventually learn how to do those things, but I wanna take it nice and slow. Remember the fire drill? Or swimming? I took it one step at a time, and I learned how to do things safely. I know I can do it, Steve. I know. How about I take over cleaning the bathroom, and I can make lunch from now on? I can make simple things and Leon says there are tons of food options these days. Not everything has to be chopped and stirred and moved into a dozen pots.”

Steve is still very tense and he isn’t saying anything.

Bucky wiggles a bit and taps his chest. “Come on, say something. What do you think? Can I clean the bathroom tomorrow?”

Steve hesitates for a bit longer, the his fingers finally start moving. He says he thinks it’s too dangerous. Bucky could spill chemicals, he could spray them into his face, he could trip and fall face-first into the tub…

That’s when Bucky stops listening. He lets Steve keep spelling, but he stops tracking the letters. He knew this would be Steve’s reaction. A small part of him had hoped for better, but Steve has always been a worrier.

The thing is—Steve isn’t actually wrong. None of what he’s saying is out of the realm of possibility. Yes, Bucky could hurt himself…but so could Steve. So could anybody. In fact, Bucky used to walk into the wall and the furniture all the time when he was learning how to walk around the apartment without his cane. That’s why they got the solid-toe slippers, and Bucky slowed down, paid more attention and learned how to do it right.

He knows he can apply the same method for chores and he’d eventually get the hang of things. He realizes learning how to do the chores won’t be the hard part—convincing Steve to go along with his plan will be the hard part. Sure, Bucky knows he doesn’t need Steve’s permission or his blessing to do chores. He could climb off his lap and go figure out how to clean the bathroom right now, but he doesn’t want to get into another fight with Steve. They’ve just gotten through one rough patch and he has no desire to jump right into the next one.

And he has a feeling this chore issue is going to turn into a rough patch.

But the good news is that doing chores was just one of the plans Leon helped him make, so even if they have to leave the chore issue on the side for now, Bucky can move forward with his other plans: braille, his knitting business and volunteering.

“Anyway, let’s leave the whole chore thing aside for now. I still wanna talk about it later and I do wanna help with chores, but Leon gave me another good idea.”

Steve recognizes the open invitation to change topics and jumps on it. He draws multiple—frantic—question marks on Bucky’s hand.

Bucky grabs Steve’s shirt and gives it a shake. “But you can’t say ‘I told you so’, alright?”

More question marks.

Bucky finds Steve’s nose and flicks it. “I don’t wanna hear ‘I told you so’, okay? Promise.”

Steve’s shaking a bit. Bucky checks his face, and he finds Steve chuckling. That’s much better. They’ve successfully steered around the rough patch. Bucky will steer them back to it, but not today. “Promise. Come on, I’m waiting.”

Steve finally spells out ‘I promise’. Because he’s a punk, he spells out each letter dramatically slowly, making sure Bucky knows how ridiculous he thinks Bucky’s being.

Little does Steve know that Bucky’s stretching things out on purpose, trying to move Steve farther and farther away from the stressful chore discussion.

It’s working.

“I’ll thank you to keep your sarcastic, slow as snails spelling to yourself, Rogers. Jesus!” He smacks Steve’s chest. “Anyway, Leon supports your idea of finding me some volunteer work to do.”

Predictably, that cheers Steve up. He sits up straighter and starts jostling Bucky’s hand and tapping it.

“Remember: I don’t wanna hear ‘I told you so’.”

Rub, rub. Steve asks him if he’s thought about what kind of volunteer work he wants to do.

“Well, I definitely wouldn’t be any good sorting clothes and food cans at church, would I? I’d be folding clothes worse than Baby Becca did and I can’t tell one can apart from another. But I don’t know what other volunteer work people do these days.”

Steve tells him they’ll figure it out. They’ll look up general volunteer opportunities, and even if they can’t find any of those positions in Brooklyn, they can start building a good idea of what kind of volunteer work people do these days. As a last resort, they can contact HKNC and ask them for help.

Bucky grins. He’d been focused on using the volunteering to distract Steve from the chore discussion, but now that they’re actively talking about it, he’s getting excited about the idea of volunteering.

“Okay, and can we start working on my knitting business too? I don’t know how people sell things these days, so I wanna know more about that.”

Steve happily taps his hand. He tells him that during his work breaks today, he’ll look up information. He promises that Bucky’s employee will work hard.

Bucky grins. “Oh, he better work hard. I’ll be monitoring and I’m a very tough boss. In the meantime, I’ll do braille practice, okay?”

More happily tapping.

Excellent!

*             *             *

While Bucky and Maggie spend time together and practice braille, Steve researches. He’s happy to discover that people sell all sorts of things online these days, and there are even websites that allow people to create little online stores to sell their artistic creations.

He scrolls through pages after pages of amazing stores, featuring people selling art pieces, jewelry, crocheting, knitting, picture frames, hair accessories, pottery and children toys.

It’s always nice to see that people still enjoy creating things with their own two hands in this century, but as he scrolls through the results for people who sell knitting creations, he realizes Bucky will have some competition.

Oh, well. They’ll just have to work hard to get customers.

He presses his motion sensor button to call Bucky over.

“I’m coming, hang on!” Bucky shoves the Tack Tile board onto the coffee table and heads over to the desk. Steve tells him what he’s discovered and Bucky looks a bit worried about the competition, but true to his nature, he decides to focus on solutions rather than fixating on the problems.

“Okay, so can you make me one of these website stores?”

“Sure. We’re gonna need pictures of some of the stuff you’ve made, Buck.”

“Okay. I’ll go find some pieces I like and then you can take the pictures.”

“And you gotta pick prices for things.”

Bucky frowns. “I—I have no idea what things cost, Rogers. How am I supposed to pick a good price? I don’t even know how much the wool costs.”

Steve realizes that’s actually a bigger problem than it appears to be. He pokes Bucky in the stomach, then grabs his hand to keep spelling. “I think that’s something that you gotta work on, Mr. Business Owner. You gotta start catching up with today’s prices for things.”

Bucky nods. “Yeah, I agree. From now on, can you tell me what things cost when we’re out somewhere? I wanna know everything—subway fare, food, clothes, Maggie’s stuff.”

“Okay. Just remind me if I forget.”

“For now, do you remember how much the wool and other supplies cost? I know how much wool I need for different things, so then we can put that information together.”

“What about shipping?”

“Huh?”

Steve smiles. “Shipping, Buck. The website can be accessed by people all over the world, remember? So people from all over the world can buy your stuff. But paying for the shipping can get expensive. You gotta factor that in.”

Bucky’s grinning. “Oh, that’s swell!” He grabs Steve’s shirt and shakes it happily. “Oh, this is exciting! Okay, let’s get going. We have work to do!”

*             *             *

It’s so much fun setting up his new online store with Steve! The fact that Steve asks for Bucky’s input at every step makes it even better. He truly feels that this is his store and his project, despite Steve being his eyes and ears (and typing hands) for him.

This is how it should be—Steve helping Bucky do the things he can’t do, not making decisions for him that Bucky could make. He checks on Steve frequently and he’s always smiling and exciting, so it seems that Steve is happy with his role in this project.

Bucky doesn’t even mind that he hasn’t sold anything yet and may not get customers for a while. Just the fact that he’s taking control of his life and has a direction to move in make him happy. But while his own mood has changed dramatically, he realizes that he’s put Steve through a difficult time recently and he wants to make up for that too.

He knows exactly how to cheer him up. “Hey, Steve?”

Tap.

“Do we still have that Brooklyn movie on the TV recorder?”

Tap, tap. Does Bucky want to watch it together?

Bucky grins. “Only if you’re in the mood. It don’t have to be tonight, but I’d like to watch it.”

Tap, tap, tap. Steve says he’d love to watch it tonight. He’s been looking forward to watching it together.

“Me too. Alright, I’ll go check on Maggie and you get things set up. You wanna watch it with the transducers?”

Tap, tap.

Twenty minutes later, they’re cuddled up on the couch, Maggie on Steve’s lap, the transducers turned on and Steve’s describing the enormous ship that the main character just boarded, which will bring her from her small life in Ireland to Brooklyn.

“It would have been even more scary for her than for your ma, huh? At least your ma had your pa there with her.”

Tap, tap.

Steve tells him to get ready…and then the ship’s horn is blowing, the wind is wiping everybody’s hair and hats all over the place, everybody on the docks and on the boat is cheering and waving…and the couch is vibrating right along with all of it.

“I can picture your ma and your pa waving to everybody down on the docks! Your grandparents woulda been standing down there, right?”

Tap. Steve says it actually reminds him of watching Bucky pulling away on the train, on his way to war.

Bucky smacks Steve. “None of that, Rogers. Don’t you go bringing that stuff up. We’re focusing on your ma. Did the boat leave yet?”

Tap. Steve describes how the young Irish girl meets an older girl, who’s done the trip between Ireland and Brooklyn before multiple times.

“She’s gonna show her the ropes, huh? Your ma and pa could have used somebody like that, huh?”

Tap.

The transducers are great for letting Bucky experience the sound of the waves and the snap of doors being shut as everybody moves into their tiny cabins. “I remember that. Your ma drew pictures of it all the time. She says her cabin was barely bigger than two outhouses put together!”

Tap. Steve asks him if he remembers what his ma had told them about the trip over.

“About the seasickness? Jesus, do I remember! Your pa was so worried about your ma getting sick and he went around and asked everybody for remedies and advice…and then she didn’t get seasick at all!”

No, Steve’s pa did. He spent the entire journey in the bathroom or in his bunk, sweating and miserable and having every bit of food run through him within minutes.

Steve brings Bucky’s hand to his lips so he can feel his laughter.

Mrs. R told them all the time about how she spent days helping Mr. R and others on their level, who were all overcome with seasickness throughout the week long journey. She helped them drink, dragged them in and out of the bathroom, changed and washed the sheets and clothes and made the simplest soups she could manage to feed them. She was the only reason they all lived long enough to see Brooklyn.

“You remember her telling us that whole thing is what made her want to be a nurse?”

Tap. Steve reminds him it hadn’t been easy for them. It took her and his pa a few years to save up the money to afford the tuition for her, and then the Great War had interrupted and ended up taking his pa. But once Steve was born, his ma wanted to continue pursuing her dream. It would provide a secure income and she always said Steve’s pa would have been so proud of her for going through with it. Since Steve had already been born by the time she started school, little baby Steve had gone to classes with her. During the day, Steve went with her to work, cleaning rich people’s homes and at night, Steve went with her to classes.

“You know, maybe that’s where your dislike of medical classes comes from, Rogers. You had to listen to medical discussions since you were tiny,” Bucky laughs.

Steve chuckles. He points out that he doesn’t remember any of that, but some of it must have seeped into his subconscious mind.

The movie is a joy to watch. Steve does a great job keeping Bucky up to date on what’s going on with the story, but Bucky’s having a much better time picking out parts that remind him of Mrs. R’s stories, or their own childhoods. Steve pauses the movie frequently so they can reminisce about things like the subway car ride and the characters’ trip to Coney Island. Bucky loves the many little connections the movie has to Mrs. R’s own life. The main character even ends up going to school—just like Mrs. R had—to get a degree that will allow her to pursue the career of her dreams too.

Bucky doesn’t bring up the fact that Mrs. R’s dream job was actually what had ended up taking her from them too early. That doesn’t matter. She’d worked hard for it, she’d loved the work she did and the joy and pride she got from it were things she constantly transferred to her boys. Bucky knows from his own pa’s nasty temper and bad attitude that being miserable at work definitely translates into being miserable at home.

And Bucky’s sure that Mrs. R would be very pleased about Bucky’s new-found desire to do volunteer work. Helping people and easing other people’s burdens had been her focus for her entire life, and she’d probably be very proud of her boys for continuing that tradition.

The entire evening is wonderful. Not only does Bucky feel a lot better about his present and the future, but it’s such a joy to reminisce about Mrs. R without being consumed by sadness.

Once the movie is done—with the main character doing her second trip from Ireland back to Brooklyn and showing another young Irish girl how to deal with the week-long voyage—Bucky can’t stop smiling.

“That was a great movie! Thanks for helping me watch it.”

Steve kisses his cheek and thanks him for talking about his ma with him. He knows it’s painful, but it feels soothing at the same time.

Bucky finds Steve’s face and gives his cheek a light tap. “I know, sweetheart. I feel the same way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here are two more clips from the movie Brooklyn: [This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=un_cAvo4rwM) is a clip showing the boat journey as the main character leaves Ireland for the first time. [This clip](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jNDneofQOKQ) shows the main character supporting another new Irish immigrant who is making her first crossing. This second clip does show the ending of the movie so if you’d like to remain unspoiled, I suggest not watching it.


	79. Chapter 79

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank [Royal_Ermine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Royal_Ermine) for helping to come up with Bucky’s knitting store name! Thank you to everyone for your suggestions. There were so many good ones, but unfortunately, some of them had modern language twists that the boys wouldn’t think of and others referred to his disabilities, which you’ll see in this chapter is something that Bucky wants to avoid.

It takes them a few days to finish setting up Bucky’s store. Bucky wants it to look nice and professional, so they take their time.

Adding the pictures of his favourite pieces had been pretty simple, but choosing prices for the items is harder. Bucky can’t wrap his head around the idea that he should be charging at least $20 for most items. To him, $20 is half a month’s rent and clearly not an amount that should be spent on a scarf. But Steve promises that he’s looking at other people’s knitting stores and those prices are comparable, so it’ll be fine.

Deciding that hopefully customers won’t find these prices outrageous, Bucky asks him to pick whatever prices are in line with other people’s. Steve makes Bucky pay attention when he lists what he prices every single item and Bucky patiently listens—but he still thinks it’s outrageous.

“If I don’t get no customers, it’s cause of these whacko prices, Rogers.”

Steve completely ignores his—perfectly valid—concern and asks Bucky what he wants to write in the biography section.

“The what?”

Biography section. A little bit of information about the store owner.

“Oh. I don’t know.”

Steve tells him they can leave it blank, but when Bucky thinks about it, he realizes he wants to fill it out. The question is what he wants it to say.

One thing’s for sure: he’s adamant that Steve doesn’t mention any of his disabilities. “I don’t want anybody ordering from me outta pity. I work hard and I make nice, good quality things, don’t I? I ain’t a kid. I don’t want people giving me money just cause they pity me. I can do this the normal way.”

So the ‘About Me’ section ends up only describing that Bucky’s lived in Brooklyn all his life and he learned how to knit from a friend’s mother and has been doing it for most of his life. They also add the fact that he knits with a loom, since there are some things Bucky can’t make with the looms. He’s willing to let Steve help with certain things, like adding buttons and pom-poms or sewing together large pieces that Bucky has to create separately, but he refuses to take on projects that will force Steve to do most of the knitting work.

Last but most importantly, Steve asks him what he wants the name of the store to be. Bucky had spent hours mulling over different possibilities. He wants something catchy and original, but something that’s meaningful to him.

When Steve had asked him if he wanted to include the bit about Mrs. R teaching him how to knit in the biography section, Bucky realizes that he knows exactly what he wants to call the store.

“You remember how your ma would take her knitting and darning with her on the train so she could work on it along the way to work?”

Tap, tap. Does Bucky want to do the same?

“Well, I can knit wherever I want, but that ain’t my point. My point is, it’s real nice that I’m gonna be getting money using what your ma taught me, ain’t it? She always knew she was teaching us an important skill, didn’t she?”

When they were young, Bucky’s sure that Mrs. R had been so adamant about teaching him how to knit purely as a way to give Bucky something to do when he was sitting at Steve’s bedside. Keeping Bucky’s energy focused on knitting meant that he didn’t constantly jump up to check on the various gadgets attached to Steve or touch Steve to check his temperature.

Bucky enjoyed knitting for multiple reasons, but the biggest reason was one he’d never shared with Steve or Mrs. R. Whenever he got very scared that Steve might die, he would convince himself that if he knit a certain number of perfect rows in a certain amount of time, God would spare Steve. It’s something he’s never told Steve or anybody else, and although he realizes now how foolish the whole idea had been, Steve’s continued survival had made him believe that his knitting really did have something to do with it. It wasn’t until he was older and didn’t have as much time to knit by Steve’s bedside anymore that he’d realized how foolish the whole idea had been. But in any case, Mrs. R had always expressed amazement at how quickly and neatly he could knit and it became something Bucky was proud of.

When they’d gotten older and both of them had started knitting, Mrs. R had taught them how to make things that were useful. They didn’t need to spend money on expensive clothes or always settle for ones that were too large or too small. If they could buy a ball of wool, they could make whatever they needed. They couldn’t always afford wool, but when they did, it was much better to create something that they knew they needed and fit them perfectly.

Bucky’s sure that Mrs. R had no idea that twenty years later her boys no longer had to worry about affording good quality clothes, but they would both choose to continue knitting for entertainment. And now, Bucky can use his knitting skill to make money.

“I like that I’m using what your ma taught me to make some money. She’s probably real proud, ain’t she?”

Tap, tap. Hand squeeze. Then Steve is pulling Bucky into his arms and pressing his smile against Bucky’s cheek. Steve’s tense, but his smile is genuine. He’s probably feeling as emotional as Bucky is.

“Every time something like this happens, I just know she’s watching over us, ain’t she, Stevie? I mean—what are the chances that the only good option I have for work is doing something she taught me how to do? Huh? What are the chances?”

Steve nuzzles his face with his nose and kisses him hard, tapping his back.

Relaxing against Steve, Bucky touches the smile on Steve’s face and presses their foreheads together. “So I know what I want my store called.”

Steve draws a question mark on his back.

“Knitting on the Q.”

He can feel Steve’s smile growing into a big grin and then Steve is happily jostling them and tapping Bucky’s back.

“You like it? I figured it’s got your ma in there, but not directly. I don’t wanna confuse anybody. Everybody’s gonna just think I’m using the Q cause we’re in Brooklyn, but that’s the beauty of it, ain’t it? It works both ways: it connects to your ma and it connects to Brooklyn.”

Bucky turns his face towards the shelf, where Q Bear always sits, watching over them. “You hear that, Q Bear? You’re gonna be famous!”

Then Steve jostles them some more and turns Bucky’s chin back so he can kiss him.

*             *             *

Bucky’s online store goes live on Friday evening and since that’s the day Steve usually writes a new post for his blog, he proudly dedicates the week’s installment to discussing ‘Knitting on the Q’.

Now that the store is set up, their plan for Saturday is to research volunteer opportunities and go to the park. But all those plans come to a screeching halt when Steve checks the store's email account and sees some new messages. As Bucky’s dedicated computer-employee, Steve had created a new email address for the store and he’s responsible for reading and relaying important information from the website.

They had been prepared to wait a few days until orders would hopefully start coming in…but the emails that Steve gets early on Saturday aren’t administrative emails from the website.

They appear to be…order requests.

He blinks and re-reads the first email multiple times. Somebody named ‘Erica Lombiso’ from Australia had ordered one of the knit wool hats.

This is…this is clearly an order. From the store. Somebody wants Bucky to knit them a hat, and she’ll pay him for it.

He’s about to press his motion sensor and start jumping around with excitement…until he realizes he has two other emails and they’re also orders! They’ve been placed by different people and one has ordered a hat and another has ordered a shawl and a pair of socks.

They have three orders! The site has been up for less than 24 hours and they already have orders!

That makes Steve pause.

He knows how many people use the internet every single day, but there are so many other knitting stores competing for attention that it seems unbelievable for Bucky to have received three orders in less than 24 hours.

He has a sneaking suspicions that ‘Erica Lombiso’ and the other two ‘customers’ might all be the same person…who also goes by the name of Natasha Romanov. He knows Natasha reads every post he makes on his blog, so it makes sense that she would have jumped at the chance to get Bucky’s business off the ground.

But he also knows that she’d never admit to putting in these orders and he has no proof that she did it. If she did create fake orders, she did a good job. He knows he shouldn’t bother digging into it any further—if Natasha Romanov wants to create fake orders on an online store, she can do it while half-asleep. There’s no way Steve can catch her.

But one thing’s certain: Steve doesn’t want to dampen any of the excitement that Bucky will feel by bringing up his suspicions. Besides, Steve’s suspicions have no supporting evidence and he’d just be making Bucky feel bad. He decides that this is not in violation of their new communication rules and keeps it to himself.

“Buck, get over here! You’re not gonna believe this!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Once Bucky is standing next to him, Steve jostles his hand and tells him his store got three orders!

Bucky’s eyes widen. “Three?! Already?” He gets a big grin on his face. “Oh, that’s great! And you said this would be hard, Rogers! What are the orders for?”

Steve relays the three orders and then they grin at each other and jostle each other’s hands for a while, until Bucky freezes. “Rogers! I don’t have enough wool for more than one hat, never mind long socks! And she wanted a green one? I don’t know if I’ve got any green wool left! Can you come check my colors? And then we need to go to the craft store and then I need to get to work!”

“It’s okay, calm down. We put on the website that every order will take 1-2 weeks, remember? And you know you can knock out a hat in just two days. It’ll be fine.”

“But you don’t know what’s gonna happen! Maybe the craft store won’t have the colors we need or my looms break or Maggie decides to play with it again and then I’ll need all the time I can get to get the orders finished.”

Steve can’t stop smiling at Bucky’s enthusiasm. Grabbing Bucky around the waist he pulls him onto his lap. “I’m proud of you, Buck,” he mumbles into his neck.

Bucky grins and wraps his arm around Steve’s neck. “Thank you for helping me.”

Squeezing him tightly, Steve mumbles “You’re welcome” against his neck and pulls back to give him a few hard, proud kisses. He still can’t believe how quickly Bucky’s entire mood has changed and how happy he is with his new plans.

“Hey, you know who else would be real proud of you?” Steve asks.

Bucky’s grin changes to his bashful smile and he presses his face against Steve’s shoulder. He mumbles a reply which Steve can’t make out, but they both know the answer.

Steve holds him tight and presses his smile against Bucky’s neck. Glancing upwards, he’s overcome with emotion. “Thank you for watching over your boys, ma,” he mumbles.

It takes Bucky a few minutes to pulls his face away from Steve’s shirt and his eyes are a bit moist when he does. Steve gently brushes his thumbs over his eyes, kisses his forehead and finds Bucky’s hand so he can spell.

“Okay, Mr. Boss. You ready to go to the store or you wanna cuddle a bit?”

Bucky thinks it over. Steve can see the internal struggle going on in his mind: his personal desires at war with his work-related responsibilities. It’s a struggle Steve has seen Bucky Barnes dealing with for most of his life.

“We should go to the store.” Bucky finally declares. Then he frowns. “Hey, you don’t mind if our plans for today change? I still wanna do volunteer research, but I wanna do my work first.”

Steve chuckles. Tapping Bucky on the back multiple times, Steve gives him one more kiss and then grabs his hand to spell. “We can do whatever you wanna do, Buck. You’re the boss.”

So instead of going to the park, they make a shopping list and head to the craft store.

*             *             *

On the train ride to the craft store, Steve has to listen to Bucky moan and complain about the subway fare—again.

(“2.75?! 2 dollars and 75 cents?! Who the hell does the city think they are?! No, don’t start spelling on me, Rogers. I don’t care about inflation and cost of whatever. It’s the principle! Five cents was a decent fare.”

And that’s usually when Steve manages to grab his hand so he can spell out his usual response. “You don’t even pay the full fare, Buck! You get to pay $1.35—”

“That’s $1.30 more than it should be!”)

Steve had been working hard on one of their other new projects: catching Bucky up with today’s prices for things.

It’s easier said than done. Bucky tends to fixate on the lower cost items, probably because those are numbers that are easier for him to comprehend. Telling him that their rent is $2500 a month seems to pass right by him. Bucky has no understanding of things costing more than 50 dollars, never mind hundreds or thousands.

It’s a weird situation to be in, because Steve doesn’t remember being so upset over the situation when he’d been going through it. Bucky had pointed out that Steve had been in shock at that point and he’d probably memorized the new prices for things because he felt he had to and hadn’t felt any emotional connection to the process. Then he’d gotten accustomed to things and once the shock had worn off, he was used to today’s prices. Steve still gets surprised by certain things, but he doesn’t feel the sense of betrayal and confusion that Bucky feels.

When they’re at the craft store, Steve confirms that the yarn aisle is clear, so Bucky heads down it by himself, searching for the section where his wool starts. Once he’s found it, he puts his cane away and spends a few minutes touching the different balls of soft wool with a smile on his face.

Steve takes his time going back to the front of the shop to grab a basket and slowly wanders down the yarn aisle, knowing that Bucky always likes having a few minutes to enjoy having so many soft things to touch. But then it’s time to get to business.

“Rogers, come help me find colors, please.”

Bucky always starts with the highest quality wool and only moves to the lower quality ones if he can’t find the color he wants. He doesn’t even need Steve to tell him which ones are the highest quality ones—he can tell by feel. They’re the softest, strongest and they’re made from pure wool.

Today they’re lucky and they find all the colors they need in the high quality yarn. When they’re about to go, Steve remembers that he needs to be telling Bucky the cost of things.

“Buck, hang on a second. You wanna know the price of this wool?”

“Sure.”

“Okay, each of these balls is $5.79.”

Steve can tell from Bucky’s stunned facial expression that this conversation will not go well.

“You’re doing the numbers wrong. The first number should be zero, idiot.”

Sighing, Steve rubs Bucky’s hand. “No. If the first number were a zero, then I’d have told you zero. I ain’t the idiot round here. I said: 5…7…9.”

Bucky blinks. “You’re—you’re telling me, that—that one of my balls of wool—just _one_ —is 5 dollars and 79 cents?”

Steve taps his hand. “Yup. You ready to go pay?”

“What? No, I ain’t ready to go pay! This is crazy! Have they always been this expensive?”

“Yeah. But it’s fine, Buck. This is the kind of wool you wanna use, so that’s what we’ll buy.”

Bucky rips his hand out of Steve’s grasp. “No, it ain’t _fine_! That’s an outrageous cost! I ain’t spending that much money on just one ball of wool. Hold my cane. I don’t got time to fold it up.”

He shoves his cane into Steve’s chest and gropes for the basket on Steve’s arm. Sticking his hand into it, he takes out each ball of wool and puts it back on the shelf. While he does stop to verify that he’s putting it in the right quality section, he’s mixing up the colours.

Steve sighs softly as he fiddles with the handle of Bucky’s cane. “Buck…”

After the last one is carefully put back—a dark forest green nestled amongst bright pink—Bucky starts exploring the rest of the aisle, moving away from the high quality wool. “Okay, I’m gonna find the cheaper wool. Gimme a second.”

He trails his hand along the different types of wool, spending only a few seconds squishing and rubbing the yarn between his fingers before he’s moving on. Steve doesn’t bother checking the signs on the shelves since he knows Bucky will find what he’s looking for without help.

While Bucky is busy doing that, Steve puts the returned balls of yarn back into their right color section.

When Bucky gets to the very end of the aisle, he stops and slows his exploring. “Okay, I found ‘em! Can you come check prices?”

Steve goes to where Bucky is standing, but he can already tell that Bucky isn’t happy. Instead of rubbing the yarn with his whole hand and sinking his fingers into them, he’s rubbing a small bit of yarn between his fingers and he’s making the kind of face where he’s trying to pretend that everything’s fine, but he’s upset.

“What’s the price of this…stuff, Rogers?”

Steve leans over to check and then grabs Bucky’s hand. “$0.48.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything for a while. He keeps rubbing the yarn between his fingers and moves from ball to ball, as if he’s hoping that the poor quality yarn he’s feeling is an exception or a manufacturing defect. “This…this yarn ain’t good. It ain’t wool. It’s made from that other stuff. I forgot the name.”

Steve picks up one of the balls and reads the label on it. It’s made from acrylic. Not a bit of wool to be found. He decides Bucky’s probably not in the mood for Steve to spell out ‘acrylic’, so he decides to keep that to himself for now.

“It’s…it’s rough and scratchy…and I know it’ll come apart easy,” Bucky says, sounding betrayed by the poor quality yarn.

Steve takes Bucky’s hand and squeezes it. “Then don’t buy it. We’ll get the high quality stuff that you like. Come on. Let’s go pick the colors out again.”

Bucky shakes his head and takes his hand back, poking a finger into the offending yarn bundle. “No,” he mumbles. He takes his hand off the acrylic yarn and wipes his hand on his pants, as if he wants to get rid of the feel of the rough fiber. “It’s too expensive.”

Sighing, Steve picks up Bucky’s hand again and discreetly kisses his palm. When he responds, he doesn’t voice. He asks Bucky to keep their conversation private.

Bucky still looks upset and annoyed, but he taps on Steve’s hand.

Steve reminds Bucky that they can afford the more expensive wool. They’ve been buying the expensive wool for months and they’ve still been paying their rent and eating and buying anything else they want, haven’t they? Just because they don’t like to rely on their military money doesn’t mean it’s not there.

Frowning, Bucky roughly rubs Steve’s hand. He doesn’t care that they can afford it. It’s the principle of the thing: wool shouldn’t cost that much. It’s outrageous. The cost of the low priced garbage yarn is what high quality wool should cost.

Steve squeezes Bucky’s hand. He tells Bucky that he needs to stop comparing prices to what they were 70 years ago. Bucky jerks his hand back as if to flip their hands around, but Steve tightens his grip and keeps spelling. He reminds Bucky that they’d both promised to live in the present. They’re living in the 21st century and their Brooklyn has kept up with the time change, so they need to do the same.

Bucky’s quiet for a while. Then he tells Steve that it’s hard.

Tapping Bucky’s hand multiple times, Steve tells him he agrees. Bucky needs to be patient with himself, but he needs to focus on the present. No more comparing prices to what they were like back in the 20s and 30s. He’s living in the present, so he needs to focus on today’s prices. That way, he can truly learn to judge if something is overpriced or not.

Bucky frowns and thinks for a while. Then he demands to know if the medium quality wool is less expensive.

“Go pick what you’d be happy using and I’ll tell you the price. Then you can make up your own mind about what to do.”

So Bucky makes his way back down the aisle, but this time he’s moving much slower. He carefully compares the yarn balls and Steve can tell he’s tracing the change in texture and quality as he goes. His investigation requires a few trips up and down the aisle, but he finally settles by a section that’s a bit down from the high quality ones, but far from the low quality end.

“Okay, these ones. What’s the price?”

Steve walks over and peers at the price tag on the shelf. “$3.95.”

Bucky makes a bit of a face, but then he takes a deep breath. “Okay, that’ll work. It’s better than $5.79. That really was too much to spend on yarn, in my opinion. But $3.95 is okay. And this stuff is good enough quality so it’ll work.”

Squeezing Bucky’s hand, Steve tells him he’s proud of him.

That brings a small smile back to Bucky’s face. “Alright, alright. Enough sweet talking. Let’s pick out our colors.”

*             *             *

Once they’re back home, Employee-Steve sends email replies to the customers, verifying their orders and the expected shipping date, and then Employee-Steve has to confirm that Bucky’s using the right wool color for the first hat.

“You’re absolutely sure this is the green, Rogers?”

“I’ve tapped your hand a thousand times, Barnes. Yeah, I promise—this is the dark green that she wanted.”

“But you’re sure that you’re sure? Are you looking right at it?”

“Jesus—yeah, I’m looking at it!”

“And it ain’t too dark in here? You can see it’s the right color?”

“I’m gonna give your face some new color if you don’t quit it.”

“This ain’t time for jokes, Rogers! This green, the one that’s in my hand right now, that’s the right one?”

“Yes. Yes, yes, yes. If I keep tapping your hand, it’s gonna fall off.”

“Okay, I’m gonna keep holding onto the green and can you move all the other balls of wool away from me? Put ‘em back in the basket and put that back on the shelf. I don’t wanna grab the wrong one when I come back from the bathroom or something.”

And then Bucky’s off, knitting his first order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: Now that ‘Knitting on the Q’ is off to a good start, Bucky will turn his focus back to braille! I know some of you have been eagerly awaiting that, so you’ll be pleased to know that we’ll spend quite a bit of time moving Bucky’s braille journey forward in the next few chapters.
> 
> The wonderful [Pointlessnachos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pointlessnachos/pseuds/pointlessnachos) sent me a video link about John Bramblitt, who is a blind painter. His art is amazingly realistic and uses color in a wonderful way. These videos describe his painting techniques and you’ll notice some similarities to how Bucky and Steve do their various art projects. The videos can be found [here](https://www.facebook.com/22Words/videos/2146698212057504/?hc_ref=ARTTKux9SfT7uHtmO6_8WDtx5EelhZq63w7XN4GbZNTpSO__MNnl7AxbeEU3oCJoYJE) and [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_fDcapEe4P8).


	80. Chapter 80

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here](https://brailleworks.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/Braille-Alphabet-Red-Black700x700-700x700.jpg) is a link to the uncontracted braille cheat sheet, in case you’d like to follow along with Bucky. You know what that means! It's braille time!

While Bucky’s days are definitely fuller now, he makes sure to keep his attention focused on all of his goals equally, not just the ones which are giving him an immediate pay-off (like his knitting business). Searching for volunteer positions is proving difficult due to Bucky’s physical limitations, and the braille learning is also tough.

Learning something as complex as braille from the very beginning stages is difficult and boring. He can’t even remember when he’d learned the printed alphabet and how to read basic words and sentences, but he thinks it was more bearable because he was a young child. Doing the same thing now is much harder and it’s tough to stay motivated.

Before his session with Leon had reminded him what learning braille really means and gotten his excitement back up, the whole thing had started feeling like an abstract exercise while he spent most of his days just making random words and sentences on the Tack Tile board. He stopped having to use the cheat sheet constantly, but making words and sentences on the board was boring. He’d sorted the tiles into different containers, but it still took him a while to find the right ones. Composing big sentences got annoying so he’s mostly stuck with making short and simple sentences.

As he’d promised, Steve is very careful about not interfering too much. He tells Bucky to let him know if he wants some new exercises to work on, but mostly leaves him to practice on his own.

Even though the session with Leon had brought some of the excitement back for Bucky, when he’s practicing with the Tack Tiles and he’s constantly reminded of how difficult this whole thing is, his enthusiasm always starts to fade a bit.

But that all changes when they’re at the pool a few days later.

When they’re done swimming, Lisa brings Bucky his cane, he says goodbye to everybody and makes his way to the changing rooms. He searches for the square on the wall and feels for the bumps on it, knowing that the one with fewer bumps is the men’s changing room.

Usually he just rubs his fingers over the bumps long enough to determine that he’s not going to be walking into the ladies changing room, but this time, when he rubs his fingers over the bumps, he freezes.

He know right away that it’s the men’s changing room, but that’s not what stops him in his tracks.

He’d just been practicing with the Tack Tiles before they came to the pool. That’s probably the only reason the bumps on the sign catch his attention.

What if—what if these bumps aren’t a construction defect like he’d always assumed they are?!

What if they’re braille?!

He feels somebody touching his shoulder. Probably Steve, wondering why the hell he’s standing frozen in front of the bathroom sign.

“Just—just gimme a second. You go ahead, if you want.”

He slows his frantic scrubbing over the dots and moves his fingers over them more carefully. “Steve?”

There’s a tap on his shoulder.

“These are braille dots, ain’t they?”

Tap, tap.

If these are braille dots, that means he can actually read what the signs say! He knows they must say ‘men’ or ‘gentlemen’ or something like that, but he’ll be able to confirm what they actually say!

He’ll be able to read what they say without Steve telling him what they say!

A thrill of excitement runs through him and he quickly finds the start of the dots.

## ⠠⠠⠍⠑⠝

There’s one dot by itself. It’s positioned low in the cell, but even without knowing that, he knows it must be a dot 6. The capital sign. All sentences start with that.

An excited smile spreads over his face. He read the first cell!

As he rubs his fingers back and forth over the dots, he’s momentarily thrown by the fact that he can’t feel any cell boundaries. His Tack Tiles are all nice little bricks which clearly let him feel where one cell ends and where another begins.

But that’s okay. He doesn’t need boundaries. He knows if there’s a space, that means a new cell will start.

And he can feel the big space after the dot 6 cell. Focusing hard, he rubs his fingers over the next collection of dots. Two dots high up, two dots down low. Dots 1, 3, 4, 6. That’s X!

Wait…

Capital X??

What kind of bathroom sign starts with an X?

Well, they have all kinds of weird slang these days that Bucky doesn’t know about. Maybe this is one of those new words.

He can’t really feel a space before the next dots start, but he knows the last top dot he felt was the dot 4, so the next cell must start with the dot he feels nearby.

It’s a little lower than the dot 4 had been, so it must be dot 2. Then there are dots nearby: dots 4, 5 and 6!

Dots 2, 4, 5 and 6. That’s a W!

X-W!

He blinks.

What?

That…that makes no sense.

That can’t be what the sign says! But if the sign isn’t wrong, then the only other possibility is that Bucky’s not reading it right. And that’s…that’s…very concerning.

He starts to feel panicked. What if…what if he can’t do this? What if he can’t learn to read braille? Playing with Tack Tiles isn’t the same as reading a book or a sign!

What if he can’t do this?

Reading braille is the start of his long term goals! If he can’t ever learn braille then what will he do for the rest of his life?! All of his careful plans that had pulled him out of that pit of depression will fade away!

But wait, slow down, Barnes. He’s jumping to conclusions. X-W may be a new slang term for ‘men’.

“Steve?”

Tap.

“What does the sign say?”

He feels Steve turn his hand over and spell out ‘M-E-N’.

“It actually says M and E and N? It says those three letters? You can see that the braille matches the printed letters?”

Tap, tap. Steve asks him if he could read it.

The earlier excitement drains out of him, replaced by bitter disappointment and anger. After all the time and effort Steve has already taken to teaching him and Bucky still can’t read a simple, 3 letter word!

And Bucky has all the time in the world to learn braille properly—and he can’t even manage to do that!

And the worst part is that if he can’t read braille, then he can’t read books!

“I—no, not yet. I think I need more practice.”

Steve squeezes his hand and tells him they’ll practice more and Bucky has plenty of time.

He struggles not to burst into tears or yell at Steve. All the time in world won’t help him if he’s too dumb to learn braille! He can’t—he can’t lose this! He can’t fail at this! Braille is the essential ingredient in all of his plans!

*             *             *

Steve is careful not to let Bucky feel how disappointed he is when Bucky tells him he can’t read the simple changing room sign.

They’d been practicing with the Tack Tiles for weeks, and Steve knows that Bucky knows the cell configurations and he knows he can read full sentences.

Maybe he’d felt too pressured to read the sign quickly and he couldn’t remember the cell configurations?

Maybe he was cold due to being soaking wet and half his brain was focused on that?

Steve knows Bucky Barnes usually catches on to things very quickly. The speed at which Bucky had learned the cell configurations and started reading the Tack Tiles hadn’t surprised Steve—despite having to re-start the whole learning process when the job thing had interrupted—but the fact that Bucky can’t read a simple, 3 letter word after weeks of braille practice…

…that’s not normal.

For the first time, Steve feels scared. What if Bucky can’t read braille? What if there are some people who just can’t wrap their brains around it? How will Bucky ever recover from having the ability to read come so close to him again, only to have it fade due to his own inability to read braille?

No, no, stop it, Rogers!

Bucky has only been practicing braille for a short while. He probably just needs more practice and then he’ll be able to do it.

And if he can’t, then Steve can call in the cavalry and ask HKNC for help. Maybe there won’t be anything they can do and they’ll say Bucky tried his hardest but he won’t be able to do it, but Steve is determined not to give up until they’ve exhausted every possibility.

For now, he’ll do whatever it takes to keep Bucky excited and motivated to keep learning braille.

*             *             *

Bucky’s anger and fear fade by the time they get home. Not being able to read the signs had been a nasty surprise, but maybe he was trying to move too quickly. After all, he hasn’t been spending all day practicing braille. He and Steve have been spending time researching volunteer opportunities and he takes care of Maggie and he’s been going to therapy and swimming and working on his knitting orders and various art projects—he’s been doing lots of things lately.

There’s no reason he can’t learn to read braille. He refuses to give up so easily.

He remembers it had taken him months to learn to read properly, and it had taken Steve years to read fluently. Steve had learned to read despite his bad eye sight, so Bucky can learn to read despite no eye sight. He’s sure he can.

He just needs to practice more.

Instead of consulting his cheat sheet as soon as he comes across a cell he doesn’t remember, he forces himself to figure it out on his own. The more he thinks about the cell configurations, the faster he’ll become as comfortable with them as he was with printed letters.

The Tack Tiles and the plastic letters are great, but making up words and sentences on his own or readings ones that Steve makes for him gets boring after a while and he doesn’t want boredom to impact his motivation.

“Steve, do they make braille puzzles or something? Something with simple words, but something that will let me use my brain more?”

To his surprise, the very next day, Steve tells him he’s got some exercises ready for Bucky. Steve hands him Tack Tile board that’s covered in lines of dot-covered tiles—

—no, Barnes—they’re covered in _words_ , not dot-covered tiles.

 _Words_.

If this is going to work, he has to start using the right words, even in his own head. The tiles are _letters_ , which are spelling out _words_.

Then Steve hands him another board, which is completely covered in tiles. Steve takes his hand and explains that the first board has a list of words, which Bucky has to find on the second board. The words are hidden amongst other tiles.

Bucky swallows his first instinct to make a face. This doesn’t sound like something he’ll need to use his brain for. How hard can it be to find words on the board? But he appreciates that Steve bought him the puzzle game, so he’ll try it. He dutifully reads the first word on the board.

## ⠇⠑⠍⠕⠝

“Lemon.” He knows he’s right, so he goes to the board, finds the tile in the top left corner and starts looking for an ‘L’.

He finds one in the second row. Opening his mouth to tell Steve that he found it, his fingers move to the cell next to the ‘L’, expecting to feel the familiar dots making up an ‘E’…

…But the tile next to it is clearly a ‘B’. He checks it thoroughly, but even though the cells for B and E are similar, this one is clearly a B. He decides to explore a little bit, and the closest ‘E’ he finds, is actually underneath the ‘L’.

But when he moves below the ‘E’, expecting to find an ‘M’…

…he finds a ‘C’!

“Rogers, this don’t make no sense. They didn’t spell lemon right.”

Steve rubs his hand and explains that yes, the word lemon is on the board, but it might be hidden better than Bucky thought it was.

“Can you see where it says lemon? I don’t wanna spend half an hour looking all over the damn board and not find it.”

Steve tells him that first of all, yes—he can see the word ‘lemon’ on the board from where he’s sitting next to Bucky; and second of all, even without seeing it, he knows it’s there because he was the one who put it there.

Bucky blinks. “You—you made this?”

He thought Steve had bought the whole thing as it was—one board covered in clue words and the puzzle board.

Steve taps, taps, taps his hand. He again emphasizes that he can see the word ‘lemon’. The words could be spelled horizontally, vertically or diag—

“You actually made this?! How?”

Apparently the boards and Tack Tiles are the same ones Bucky has been using all along. Steve just thought up a bunch of words, spelled them out on the board and then carefully arranged random tiles around them. He deliberately put some mis-leading word fragments on there—like pairing that L and E together and he made sure he didn’t accidentally spell additional words.

If Bucky doesn’t like it, Steve can—

Bucky curls up his fingers, stopping Steve’s words. There’s a lump in his throat. He knows this didn’t just take Steve ten minutes. He knows he probably spent several hours putting it together and double checking the position of each tile.

“You did all that for me? You spent time just to make a game I can play?”

Steve gently pulls his fingers free so he can keep spelling.

Of course I did, he says. E-O-T-L-I.

Bucky’s on the verge of crying. He runs his hand over the boards, a warm glow in his chest. He knows how much Steve does for him every single day and he knows how hard he works to make Bucky’s life as good as possible, but for some reason, this is really touching him.

It’s probably not just this braille puzzle. He’s probably getting emotional because of all the other things Steve has been helping him with recently. He helped make Bucky’s online store, brought him to the craft store where he helped him buy more wool and he’s been dealing with all the computer-related work from ‘Knitting on the Q’. He’s also been helping Bucky research volunteer opportunities and he’s been as happy and enthusiastic as Bucky has been about his many future plans.

So the fact that Steve spent all day creating an amazing braille puzzle for him that will make braille learning more fun is amazing.

He pulls his hand out of Steve’s grasp, finds Steve’s arm, then his chest and pulls their heads together, kissing his cheek.

“How did I get so lucky, huh? I’ll never know,” he whispers, blinking hard so he doesn’t sob all over the wonderful puzzle boards.

He feels Steve lift his chin and then Steve is kissing him.

After some kisses, Steve brushes their noses together and takes Bucky’s hand so he can keep talking.

‘I ask myself the same thing every single day’.

Smiling and blinking even harder to keep the tears back, Bucky finds Steve’s face and pulls their foreheads together. “I love you, Steve Rogers.”

Steve wraps one arm around him to keep him close and presses Bucky’s hand against his lips.

‘I love you, Buck’.

*             *             *

Bucky thinks the games are fantastic.

Steve makes him progressively more difficult word-search puzzles, including lots of mis-leading word fragments, and then he even starts hiding words that he doesn’t put on the clue board.

He also creates word jumbles using words that have a common theme. When Bucky gets good at those, Steve uses harder words and doesn’t give Bucky any hints about them until he gets desperate.

He figures out how to make crossword puzzles by outlining the pegs on the board with their waxy strings and labelling each word space with a number tile. Bucky has to use short sentence clues to figure out what word is supposed to go into the space and then find the Tack Tiles to spell the word. Steve doesn’t take it easy on him. It happens often that Bucky fills in a few words on the board, and then figures out he’s actually wrong, because a word connecting the previous words doesn’t fit right. He has to figure out which of his answers is wrong, double check his braille and double check his tiles.

Steve also makes number puzzles for him, using puzzles he finds online. These ones require a lot less braille reading, but they make Bucky practice doing mental math again, which is fantastic. Steve lays out a sequence of number tiles and Bucky has to figure out the pattern being represented and figure out what the next number should be.

They buy more Tack Tile boards so Steve can prepare a bunch of puzzles which Bucky can take off the shelf and do by himself when Steve is working. Steve finds a lot of websites where the computer will create crossword and word search puzzles for him—all Steve has to do is put in his word list and then replicate the puzzle using Tack Tiles.

Bucky loves being able to use his brain!

But it’s not all fun and games.

On a random day, it suddenly occurs to Bucky that he’s taking a huge risk by learning braille and he’s been too dumb to realize it. He knows he can triggered by reading the trigger words on paper. Even though braille reading involves using his fingers rather than his eyes, the possibility of being triggered is still there…

He confronts Steve about this, who immediately puts his worries to rest. Just like the manual alphabet, the Russian version of braille is completely different from the English version. Even if some of the letters use the same cell configurations, the trigger words use Cyrillic letters, which Bucky can’t read.

Just like with the manual alphabet, Bucky would need to learn the Russian version in order to understand the trigger words. And Steve doubts that reading them with his fingers would have the same triggering effect on his brain anyway. He was programmed to be triggered through sight and hearing, nothing else.

Feeling reassured, Bucky jumps right back into braille practice. He can feel himself progressing each day and reading more fluently, and that’s very exciting!

Bucky loves spending his days sitting with Maggie and doing puzzles. Whenever his brain gets tired from reading braille, he works on knitting orders or plays with Maggie. Now that he isn’t spending most of his time doing his art projects, he actually gets excited when he does spend time doing those things.

He and Steve are still actively looking for volunteering opportunities which he could do, and Bucky keeps reminding Steve that he wants to start helping out with chores.

Bucky notices that Steve always seems to have something else to discuss when he brings up the subject of doing chores. He knows the punk doesn’t like the idea of Bucky doing chores, but this isn’t something he’s gonna change his mind about.

But for now, he feels he’s making sufficient progress with his other goals, so he’s willing to let the chore issue go.

For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be ADA compliant, the changing room signs at the pool would need to be spelled using contracted braille, but for the sake of the story, please assume they were written in uncontracted braille (just like I spelled out the braille text in the chapter).


	81. Chapter 81

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, [here’s](https://brailleworks.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/Braille-Alphabet-Red-Black700x700-700x700.jpg) the link to the uncontracted braille cheat sheet, if you want it.

After another two weeks of practicing with the Tack Tiles, Bucky knows he’s ready to read an actual book. He knows the cell configurations and he can read the clue boards without pausing in between cells.

He’s ready.

“Alright, Rogers, let’s do this.” He grabs the three books which Steve had ordered all those weeks ago and brings them to the couch.

Because he has the books in his hand, he misjudges where Steve is sitting so he ends up sitting on him, but that’s okay. He’s too excited to worry about such things right now.

He’s going to read a book!

Steve immediately wraps his arms around him, shifts to get comfortable with Bucky on his lap and happily jostles them around a bit.

Bucky holds up the three books. “Gimme the one that’s the easiest.”

Two of the books are pulled out of his grasp and Bucky puts the remaining book on his lap, wiggling from excitement. “Here we go!”

He feels Steve happily jostle them and his chin rests on Bucky’s shoulder, probably looking down at the book.

Bucky explores the book cover. He finds the braille right away and rubs his fingers over the dots. Alright, time to read braille!

He finds the beginning of the dots and rubs his fingers over the first few dots. He feels that same panic that he’d felt when he’d tried reading the signs on the pool changing rooms. The dots are much smaller than the dots on the Tack Tiles, and the cells don’t have any boundaries around them.

But he doesn’t need boundaries or big cells. He can do this!

## ⠠⠛⠕⠕⠙⠝⠊⠛⠓⠞⠂⠀⠠⠍⠕⠕⠝

One little dot in the bottom, all by itself. He can’t actually tell whether it’s Dot 3 or 6, but he knows it has to be Dot 6. It has to be a capital sign. Otherwise, it’s an apostrophe, and what book title starts with an apostrophe?

Then there’s a familiar cluster of dots: 1, 2, 4 and 5. That’s a G.

“That’s capital G!”

Tap. Squeeze. Jostle.

Bucky snorts out a laugh. “Rogers, you know I love you, but when I’m reading tiny dots with my fingers, you can’t be jostling me around.”

Steve’s arms squeeze him gently—an apologetic squeeze. Bucky focuses again. He rubs his fingers around the dots, finding the cluster that’s the G again.

The next cell has dots 1 and 3. K.

What?

“Is the next letter a K?”

Rub, rub.

Shit. But dots 1 and 3 _is_ a K.

Whatever. Bucky decides to move onto the next cell.

Dots 2…4, 5 and 6.

That’s W.

What??

G-K-W??

That makes no sense.

“Rogers, what are the first three letters?”

Steve tells him they’re a G, O and O.

All of the confidence he’d built up over the past few weeks disappears again.

He can’t do this. It’s just like with the stupid sign.

All of the practice with the Tack Tiles had been for nothing. He’s no better at reading the tiny dots now than he was before his additional practice.

He doesn’t get it! He’s practiced so much and he knows the cell configurations!

He goes to the start of the dots and tries again.

Identifying the lone dot 6 is easy. Then the cluster for the G. Then it gets confusing. There are a bunch of little dots, but they’re so damn close together and it’s so damn hard to figure out which dots belong together! The more he rubs his fingers over those dots, the more overwhelmed and panicked he gets. Because they’re so damn small, he can’t even figure out what position the dots are representing in the cell.

“I—I can’t do this, Steve. I don’t know—I don’t know why, but I can’t do this.”

He feels Steve kiss his neck and his hand is being turned over. They can read together, Steve tells him. They’ll go cell by cell.

Trying to keep the panic from getting any worse, Bucky takes a deep breath and clenches his jaw. “Okay.”

Steve brings his finger to the first cell and presses his finger hard on the little dot 6. Then Steve draws a question mark on the back of Bucky’s hand.

“That’s a capital sign.”

Tap. But Steve turns his hand over and tells him he wants Bucky to say what dots he feels out-loud.

“Oh, okay.”

They move to the next cell. Bucky feels the familiar little cluster. “That’s dots 1, 2, 4 and 5. It’s a G.”

Tap. Kiss. Next cell.

“Dots 1 and 3. K.”

Rub, rub. Steve presses his finger more firmly against the paper, and that’s when Bucky realizes that there’s another little dot that’s apparently part of this cell. Oh. He’d thought it was part of the next cell.

That changes things. Since the other two dots were 1 and 3, and the new dot is between them but a little to the side, this new one has to be a 5.

“Dots 1, 3 and 5. That’s an O.”

Tap, tap, tap. Kiss.

Alright, that’s a bit better than before.

They move to the next cell. This time, Bucky feels a completely new cell. “Uh. That’s dots 2, 5 and 6….but that’s…that ain’t a cell. There’s no such cell. They made a mistake, Steve.”

Rub, rub, rub. Steve presses his finger to the dots again. This time, Bucky can feel another tiny dot. Oh!

“Dots 2, 4, 5 and 6. Sorry, I didn’t feel the dot 4 before. That’s a W.”

He’s so focused on the little dots that he doesn’t keep track of what he’s trying to spell, so he’s completely surprised when Steve rubs his hand.

“What? That’s a W, Rogers! Dots 2, 4, 5 and 6.”

Rub, rub.

Now the panic is turning into annoyance. “Are you sure you’re moving my finger right? I think you’re moving my finger wrong. Let go.” He shakes off Steve’s grip and tries again.

Capital sign. G.

Dots 1 and 3. That’s K.

Shit! Back to this again!

Despair clutches him and he wants to either cry or throw the book away.

“Rogers, this ain’t working. It ain’t—I can’t do this.” He shoves the book off his lap, pulls Steve’s arm off his waist and stumbles away from the couch.

He’s frustrated and angry and on the verge of tears. Clenching his jaw tight, he squeezes his eyes shut, not wanting to embarrass himself further by crying.

Why can’t he do this?!

They’re just stupid dots on a piece of paper! He learned how to read letters when they were lines on a page, so why can’t he learn to read them when they’re dots?!

He’s spent so much time practicing and he knows the cell configurations inside and out…yet he can’t read the stupid dots on the page! That’s the whole point of this—he wants to be able to read books, which means he has to be able to read the dots on the paper. It doesn’t matter if he can read the stupid Tack Tiles. He wants to be able to read books and things on a deafblind computer!

His goal isn’t to read the dumb plastic tiles! He wants to read books and use a deafblind computer and then maybe go to school and learn things so he can get an even better job than knitting things. He has plans! Big plans—and being too dumb to read braille isn’t something that he’s factored into those plans.

Not to mention that Steve has spent so much time and money helping him practice and he bought these wonderful books, but it turns out it was all a waste of money because Bucky’s too much of a moron to read braille!

He doesn’t know whether he wants to go to his plants or Maggie, but he’s not fully tracking where he’s going anyway, so he lets his feet pick the direction. He ends up encountering Maggie’s cage.

Opening her cage door, he sticks his hand in. He needs to keep his jaw clenched to keep the tears back, so he can’t talk, but he doesn’t need to. Feeling the surface of the mats, he quickly finds Maggie on the upper level.

He strokes her tummy and feels her rubbing his finger with her beak. Then her beak gently closes over his finger and he feels the talon of her good foot trying to anchor herself on his other finger. She wants to come out.

Spreading his fingers out, Bucky waits until she’s climbed on and secured herself, then he carefully pulls her out of the cage and brings his hand close to his stomach, cradling her against him. Turning, he slowly makes his way back to the couch, shuffling his feet to make sure he doesn’t accidentally trip over something.

He sits down and pets Maggie. At least Maggie doesn’t care if he’s too dumb to read. He might be a disappointment to Steve and the rest of the world who had high expectations for him, but Maggie doesn’t care about that. All of his plans are slowly fading away, but Maggie will still love him.

That does make him feel a little better, but just a little. He wants to read. He wants it so badly that the thought of not being able to do it hurts. Even if his other goals never come true—using a computer, going to school, getting a better job—he knows he could live with that, but being able to read again was something that he’d been looking forward to so much that the thought of losing that makes his heart ache.

He had the ability to read within his grasp! He’s so close! _So close!_

But he can’t do it.

Eventually, he feels a tentative touch on his thigh. He sighs. “I’m sorry for getting into such a snit.”

His thigh is squeezed and he feels Steve’s thumb rubbing gentle circles on it. He appreciates that Steve isn’t trying to talk to him right now.

They sit there for a while. Bucky’s earlier annoyance slowly fades, but that just leaves the sadness. “I don’t know why I can’t do it. I know the cells, I know I do, but I can’t tell what they are when they’re in the book. They’re too small and close together. You sure they don’t make books with bigger cells? And ones that have an outline around each cell?”

Rub.

Bucky sighs. “Then…then I don’t know. It…it might not…it might not happen. I think—I think I gotta give up on being able to read again.”

With that, the tears come rushing back and even though he squeezes his eyes shut, a few of them slide down his cheeks. He gently takes his hand off Maggie and wipes them away.

His heart aches at the thought of never being able to read again. It’s much worse now than it was when he’d found these books on Steve’s desk. Back then, he hadn’t know that the possibility of reading even existed for him. Now, he knows the possibility exists…but he’s too dumb to do it.

The couch shifts, and then Steve is pressing a tissue against the back of his hand. Sniffing, Bucky grabs it and dabs at his face. He stuffs the tissue under his thigh and goes back to stroking Maggie’s back.

Steve draws a few question marks on his thigh, wondering what Bucky needs from him.

What Bucky needs is for Steve to snap his fingers and make braille easy to learn. But Steve can’t do that.

“I don’t know why I can’t do it,” he chokes out. He feels Steve’s arms wrapping around him and pulling him into Steve’s arms. Bucky wraps his hand around Maggie, keeping her safe while Steve shifts them around. When they’re all comfortable, Steve takes Bucky’s hand off Maggie and asks him if he can talk.

Bucky’s exhausted. “Yeah. Yeah, you can talk. I don’t know why you’re bothering. Obviously, I’m a moron, like all those folks back then always said I was when they found out I quit school. I can’t even read a stupid children’s book. I’m—”

Steve presses his fingers to Bucky’s lips. Another tissue touches his hand and Bucky wipes his face and blows his nose. Then Steve takes the tissue from him and gently squeezes his hand.

He asks Bucky if he’s wants to talk about this now or if he wants to leave this until tomorrow.

Bucky is so exhausted and upset that he doesn’t care. “Whatever you want. Just spell slow cause my dumb head ain’t gonna keep up if you go too fast.”

Steve tells him he doesn’t know why Bucky can’t do it either, but he knows one thing for sure: it’s not, not, _not_ because Bucky’s dumb.

“But I—”

Fingers press against his lips again.

Steve tells him he knows what Bucky’s capable of, and if this was an intelligence problem, Bucky would be able to do it. Steve knows that as well as he knows his own name.

So it has to be something else. While Bucky had gone to get Maggie, Steve had closed his eyes, flipped the book to a random page, dropped his finger into the middle of the page and tried reading.

“Let me guess—you could do it, right? Which means I’m—”

This time Steve’s fingers smack against Bucky’s lips a little harder. Shut up and listen, Barnes.

Steve tells him he’s read this book a hundred times…but when he closed his eyes and blindly dropped his fingers onto a random page onto random cells, he had no idea what the cells said.

Bucky frowns. “What? How’s that possible?”

Steve tells him this is what he’s trying to say: there must be a bigger problem here, one which neither of them can figure out. Steve has read the book with his eyes and with his fingers a hundred times and he knows Bucky can read the Tack Tiles fluently.

For some reason, their brains aren’t understanding the braille cells when they’re on the paper.

And Steve has no idea how to fix that, but he has no doubt it’s fixable. He’s seen countless videos of blind people of all ages—even children—reading those tiny cells at the same speed that sighted people move their eyes while reading.

Bucky sniffs. “Okay. So how do we fix a problem we don’t know how to fix?”              

Steve tells him they can ask HKNC for help.

“Helen’s Center?”

Tap.

Bucky thinks it over. He can admit that the Cecilia woman had been helpful the past few times that they’d asked for help, but he still doesn’t trust that this place isn’t an institution that’ll lock him up if they get within grabbing distance. “You think they’ll send you websites that have the answers without us having to go there?”

Steve has no idea, but it’s worth asking.

“Okay. But don’t forget: don’t tell them our names and don’t tell them where we live. I ain’t letting them take me away just cause I can’t read braille properly.”

Tap, tap. Steve tells him that isn’t happening.

*             *             *

Steve’s hopes that Cecilia will do what she did the last two times and just send him useful information which will solve all their problems are quickly dashed when she tells him that the problem he’s describing is common, but it’s a complex issue that she’d prefer to discuss in person.

That sets off alarm bells for both Bucky and Steve.

Bucky tells him he’s prepared to live without reading if the only alternative is letting a strange person visit. “I ain’t letting some stranger in here. Anytime we’ve let a stranger into our apartment, it’s never gone well, has it?”

It’s true. They had two visits from people from institutions when they were younger, coming to take Steve to a “special place” where he’d be “properly cared for”. They’ve had countless visits from landlords, who only ever showed up when they were being evicted. Bucky never let new friends into their apartment until he’d confirmed that Steve was comfortable with them and that they were healthy enough to be around Steve. They’ve had other strangers: police officers looking for Bucky, bill collectors, those idiots from the APS, and SHIELD.

Steve isn’t letting any strangers into their apartment unless they have the legal right to enter. Cecilia does not.

He sends her an email reply, explaining that he’s not comfortable having her visit and he’d prefer to discuss the situation over the phone.

She seems receptive to that, but Steve is careful not to lower his guard. Bucky doesn’t like the idea, but as long as Steve keeps details about them vague and doesn’t tell her where they live, things should be fine. Realizing that he’ll probably end up accidentally mentioning Bucky’s name during the phone call (or his own in future emails), he decides to get ahead of that and tell her their real names. But he’s not foolish enough to tell her their surnames.

That reminds Steve that he may be able to keep some details vague, but Cecilia will probably want to know how Bucky became deafblind.

“It ain’t none of her business, Rogers. Just tell her that.”

“Buck, I’m asking this woman for help and she was very helpful in the past. She ain’t gonna keep being helpful if we’re rude.”

“Well, why the hell would she need to know how I became deafblind?”

“I don’t know and she might not ask, but the point is: if she asks and if I give some vague answer, she’ll get suspicious, and we don’t want her getting suspicious.”

Bucky sighs. “Fine. Well, what are we gonna tell her? We can’t tell her the truth. But we can’t tell her that I was born like this. That’ll make her wonder why I didn’t learn braille when I was younger.”

“Yeah, I know. I think we’ll use the same story that I use on the blog.”

“Car accident?”

“Yeah.”

Bucky makes a face. “I…Steve, I don’t like that.”

Steve frowns. “Why? Everything would fit real well. You lost your arm from the accident, you lost your sight due to infection—just like Louis Braille—and the antibiotics saved your life but you lost your hearing.”

Bucky still looks unhappy. “I don’t like lying so much if this is a story we’re gonna use for the rest of our lives. We’re gonna be telling this story to new friends and that don’t sit right with me.”

“It’s a realistic story, Buck. Nobody’s gonna think we’re lying.”

“It ain’t that. I…I wanna come up with a story that’s gonna let me be honest about us.”

Steve frowns, confused. “You and me being queer ain’t got nothing to do with the car accident story. You don’t gotta hide nothing about us.”

“I don’t gotta hide how we feel about each other, but I still gotta hide who I really am, don’t I?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Everybody knows who you are. Well—not everybody. But if somebody looks up information about you, they’ll know when you were born and they’ll know you fought in the war and all kinds of things. But nobody knows who I am, do they? I can’t tell anybody my real birth date or the fact that I fought in the war too or anything about our childhoods. People will think I’m whacko.”

Steve finally realizes this has nothing to do with the story regarding Bucky’s disabilities. This is something much more important. “You wanna be honest about that stuff? Buck—you know you can’t talk about SHIELD and Hydra and all that. And you don’t wanna tell people about the Winter Soldier stuff. It’s gonna cause all sorts of problems and it’ll probably scare people who are just getting to know you. I don’t want people getting the wrong impression of you.”

“No, me neither. But everything that happened before I fell off the train was real important to me. I’m proud of my past and I don’t wanna lie about it. And even if you don’t want me talking about my real past, I know I’ll screw up anyway. If you mention doing something at school when you were nine years old, and then I say I remember that too—that’s gonna make people look at me real weird, won’t it?”

Steve chews on his lip. “So what do you want us to tell people? We can’t tell ‘em you were born in 1917. They’re gonna take one look at you and think you’re lying or crazy.”

Bucky frowns. “Why can’t we use bits and pieces of the real story? I was frozen, same as you, wasn’t I? That’s why I’m still here.”

“Yeah, but who froze you? We can’t—”

Bucky curls up his fingers, stopping Steve’s spelling. “I know. But we don’t gotta bring Hydra into it at all. We can say I was captured during the war—twice—and they experimented on me both times. They kept me frozen in between experiments. All of that’s true. Even saying that’s how I lost my arm ain’t a lie. The only part that’ll be a lie is saying that the experiments took my sight and hearing. But saying that the people holding me prisoner are responsible for me being deafblind ain’t a complete lie, is it?”

That’s true. After all, it had been Hydra who had implanted the trigger words into Bucky’s mind, which had created this entire mess in the first place.

“Okay, I like that. What are you gonna say if people want details about the experiments?”

Bucky shrugs. “I’m gonna tell ‘em the truth: that I don’t remember much about it and I don’t feel comfortable talking about stuff like that. None of that’s a lie.”

Steve thinks it over, looking at the story from a few different angles, trying to find obvious holes.

He can’t find any.

“So? What do you think? I really don’t wanna lose my entire past, Stevie.”

Steve squeezes his hand and tells him he likes the story. Bucky’s lost so much already—he deserves the keep the parts of his life that he remembers.

“And I know you’re right, Buck—you wouldn’t be the only one messing up. I’m always asking you if you remember things from our childhoods, or bringing up people from back then, ain’t I? When we make new friends, that’s gonna eventually lead to problems if we don’t have a story ready to go.”

Bucky’s smiling, looking happy. “Yeah. Okay, so we’re both clear on the story?”

Steve taps his hand.

“Alright, go reply to Cecilia and tell her you’ll do the phone call to talk about our braille problems. If she asks questions about my past, you know what to say. But don’t go offering details if she don’t ask, Rogers!”

“I know how to talk to these kinds of people, Barnes. Relax.”

“I’ll relax when you have some answers and there ain’t no strangers in our apartment.”


	82. Chapter 82

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank Resourceress7 for being such a huge help with the research for the following chapters that deal with Bucky learning braille.

Steve calls HKNC the next day to speak to Cecilia. He explains that he and Bucky had started teaching themselves how to read braille, and things had been going very well until it was time to read real braille in real books.

She makes an interested noise. “Tell me more about how Bucky learned the cell configurations.”

He takes her through the different methods they’d used: the braille box, the muffin tin, the plastic letters and then the Tack Tiles.

“And I’ve seen Buck reading lines of Tack Tiles fluently and understanding what he’s reading. I know he knows what the cells say.”

“Let me guess: he went from the tiles to reading a book and he can’t read the braille in the book, right?”

“Yeah. But here’s thing: neither can I. Well, if I’m reading the braille visually, then I can do it, and if I read the story just with my fingers from the beginning, then I can do it, but if I randomly pick a page with my eyes closed, drop my fingers onto the braille and start reading, I can’t do it. I don’t understand why they don’t make practice books with bigger dots or at least put the borders around cells.”

Cecilia chuckles softly. “If such books did exist, I promise you that reading them wouldn’t help you read the normal braille books.”

Steve frowns. “Why?”

“Because you’re assuming that the problem lies with the dots and the way they’re displayed. But the placement and size of the dots can be read, even by children.”

“But—”

“Let me ask you a question: do you have any trouble reading the braille in the books visually?”

“Well, it’s a little tough seeing the white dots on the white paper, but if I tilt the book just right, then I can do it.”

“You can read the braille as fluently as you can read printed text, can’t you?”

“Yeah. I know what you’re gonna say: you’re gonna say that I can’t be reading the braille visually and I gotta be reading it tactilely. Well, I read it perfectly well—even with my eyes closed—when I start at the beginning. But I can’t do it if I pick a random page. I don’t know why.”

She chuckles again. “Yes, you do. Think about it, Steve. If you start reading from the beginning, you already know what the words are and you know what dots to expect in what order and position. You’re not really reading with your fingers, you’re just using your fingers to confirm what your brain already translated from print to braille.”

Steve blinks. “So…I’m cheating.”

“Yes. When you open a page randomly, that’s when you’re reading with the same conditions Bucky is facing.”

“Okay…but that doesn’t answer our question. Why can we read the tiles and the magnets but we can’t read the book?”

“Bucky’s deafblindness isn’t congenital, is it?”

“What?”

“Bucky wasn’t born deafblind, was he? He’s a former print reader, right?”

Steve narrows his eyes suspiciously. He mentally prepares to launch into the story he and Bucky had made up, but only if she asks for details. “Yeah…what that does have to do with—”

“Oh, it has everything to do with it. Most people are accustomed to gathering information about their surroundings through their hearing and sight. When you were a child, how did your mother teach you what certain animals looked like?”

“Uh…she sketched them for me.”

“Right. She gave you visual and auditory cues. She taught you to connect the visual image of a certain animal with the name she was calling it. This is how most children learn and it’s how the foundations are laid for teaching reading. Reading is a very, very complex skill. Think about it: printed letters are just random lines and dots and curves drawn on a page. We have to teach children to identify what the specific scribbles are called, what the letters sound like, what the upper case and lower case versions look like, and how to identify them when seeing them in different sizes.”

Steve’s never really thought about that. He remembers it had taken him months to learn how to read. Bucky had spent weeks drilling the shapes of letters and their names into Steve’s head, and then gradually teaching him to string the letter sounds together to form words. He hadn’t realized at the time that he hadn’t just been using skills Bucky was teaching him—but skills he’d been taught since he was a baby.

“When a child is learning to read, they’re employing a large number of complex visual and auditory skills: they have to visually identify what letter is being presented, they have to recall what that letter sounds like, and then move onto the next one without forgetting about the prior one. Then there are all sorts of complications, like letters that are mirror images of each other or digraphs that have specific sounds, like ‘th’. Learning the alphabet is a very small part of learning how to read.”

A lightbulb is slowly starting to light up in Steve’s head. “So…I taught Bucky the braille alphabet…but I haven’t taught him how to actually read braille.”

“Exactly. But that’s understandable. You were using resources you found on the internet, right?”

“Right…”

“Those resources are all geared towards sighted people who are already competent print readers. But even for sighted people, those resources will only teach them to read braille visually, using the visual techniques they learned when they learned print reading.”

“So…Bucky doesn’t have all the tools he needs to read braille properly.”

“Right. Bucky knows the cell configurations, which is fantastic and it is a huge part of learning how to read, but he needs to develop specific skills. Children develop their visual and auditory skills from the time they’re young. When your mother taught you to connect the image of an animal with the sound of its name, she was training your brain to connect visual and auditory information. That’s a skill you later used to learn how to read.”

“But…Bucky can’t use visual or auditory information anymore.”

“No. He needs to use tactile information. He needs to train his brain to understand and process complex and detailed tactile information, just like he trained it to understand visual and auditory information when he was young. He needs to develop his tactile perception and his tactile sensitivity.”

Steve abruptly realizes how familiar this whole thing is. He remembers all too well what it’s like to not be able to recognize letters when they’re right in front of him and having to train himself to figure out what he’s seeing.

Reading had started out as a team effort for them and it’s ironically stayed that way. Steve had missed so much school that his teachers had refused to help him catch up, so it had fallen on Mrs. R and mostly Bucky to teach him his letters and how to read. Mrs. R had been working lots and Bucky had jumped into the role of being Steve’s teacher.

He’d attempted to use his own school books to teach Steve the way the teachers had taught Bucky but that had worked for about two seconds, until Steve had realized that the letters in the books were way too small for him. They’d looked like black blurs.

_“They look like smushed bugs, Bucky!”_

_“But they ain’t, Stevie! Look! They’re all real different, I promise! Look real close!”_

_“I’m looking real close! But they just look like smushed bugs to me. I can’t do this, this is dumb.”_

Steve remembers losing his patience and getting upset with himself for not being able to do something that Bucky insisted he should be able to do. It had been the mirror of Bucky’s frustration and annoyance at himself from the day before when he’d realized he couldn’t read the small dots in the braille book despite having practiced with the tiles so hard.

Thankfully, Bucky Barnes had used his creativity to help Steve learn. He hadn’t wanted to use their precious pencils, erasers or papers for something like this since those were for sketching. Using soot from the fireplace was dangerous because of Steve’s asthma, but Bucky had mixed it with water to make a thick, black paste and he’d used discarded newspapers from the trash for his paper.

Bucky had drawn enormous black letters on the newspaper using the paste, and Steve’s eyesight had been so bad that he couldn’t see the faint newsprint underneath it anyway. It wasn’t until Steve had asked him where he’d found the light grey paper and how expensive it had been that he’d learned it was newsprint. Bucky had carefully made enormous pages for every letter and he’d drilled their names with Steve over and over while holding the pages at different distances from Steve’s face.

Steve smiles, remembering how impressed and happy Bucky had been when Steve had made him those braille puzzle games. Well, the idea hadn’t been an original Steve idea. The inspiration had come from eight year old Bucky Barnes who had used his own creativity to teach Steve how to read without ever having been asked to do it. Twenty years later, their roles had reversed and Steve hadn’t hesitated to do the same for Bucky.

Steve does acknowledge that Bucky is a much more patient and happy-to-please student than Steve himself had been. It had taken months and they’d been constantly interrupted by Steve’s anger at himself and his disabilities—which always resulted in him blowing up at Bucky,—illnesses, normal school and other things, until Steve had learned to recognize the shapes well enough that he could figure out which small printed blur on the school book represented which letter.

Steve had needed time to train his eyes to recognize the small shapes. Knowing what the letters looked like in his head was only half the battle, but recognizing them when the small shapes were on paper was the tough part.

And that’s the part Steve and Bucky had skipped during their braille learning. Like Steve had needed extra time to train his eyes, Bucky now needed to train his fingers to read. Unlike Steve’s situation, Bucky’s fingers weren’t disabled but they’d never been trained to decipher such small shapes. He’d need training.

But Steve’s situation had been much more straightforward than Bucky’s. He’d already been using his sight—despite how bad it was—in all aspects of his daily life. But Bucky’s not used to gathering small, detailed information with his fingers. That kind of training sounds much more complex than what Bucky had done for Steve.

Shit. “But that’ll take years, won’t it?”

Cecilia chuckles again. “Don’t worry. Bucky isn’t a young child. His brain is capable of learning a lot faster and learning a lot more complex skills than a young child is. But it won’t happen overnight.”

“How…how…I mean—how do we re-train Bucky’s brain?” This sounds very complicated.

“That’s the difficult part. I really wouldn’t recommend trying this on your own, Steve. We have resources here at HKNC that would help Bucky.”

And that’s when all his thoughts about braille disappear and they’re replaced by ringing alarm bells. “I—we’d really prefer not to come to HKNC.”

“We can do home visits, if you’re more comfortable with that.”

Shit. “Uh. We’d really be most comfortable if I go by myself.”

Cecilia is quiet for a moment. “It really would be most beneficial for Bucky if he came to the Center. We can teach him some basic exercises and show him how to use the resources. Can I…can I ask why you’re hesitant about bringing Bucky in? If he has any mobility related concerns, we can do a home visit.”

“I—” Steve takes a deep breath. Don’t be rude. Don’t be rude. “While the deafblind people who are living at the Center may be very happy living there, that ain’t what Bucky wants. And unless you’ve got a court order, you ain’t allowed to take Buck anywhere.”

“I…I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. Most of our students are from out of state, which is why they live here for the duration of their courses. Most of our local students commute in. They don’t live here.”

Steve takes a deep breath. “Look, I don’t care what excuses you try to come up with. If you try to take Buck away without his consent or a court order, it ain’t gonna end well for you.”

There’s a silence on the other end. Then: “Steve, I feel like we’re having two different conversations. We would never force anybody to come here. We’re a resource center. We offer classes and resources, that’s all. People come here voluntarily.”

Steve snorts. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“I promise you, they do. Has anybody from HKNC threate—”

That’s when Steve’s patience runs out. “I know how you people work! You barge into people’s lives with your fake smiles and your fake kindness and twist things around until you’ve convinced somebody to go with you voluntarily and if that don’t work, you use force. And once the door of that institution slams shut behind somebody, it ain’t opening again.”

He takes a deep breath and forces himself to calm down. “What I’m telling you is that you ain’t taking Buck anywhere without his consent.”

“Steve, please listen for a moment, alright? I can hear that you’re upset, but I think your worries are misplaced.”

“Are you gonna tell me that you’ve never forced somebody to go to the Center against their will?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. Now—I understand that this is a concern for you, so I want to be honest. While we don’t have legal authority to remove anybody from anywhere, if we suspect that an individual is being abused or they aren’t getting their basic necessities of life—either because they aren’t receiving the care they need, or because they’re refusing the care they need—that’s the only time when we would be legally obligated to contact APS, and they would intervene.”

Steve’s breath catches as soon as he hears those three little letters: APS. “So how do you collect your evidence before you contact APS? Is this phone call evidence?”

“No. No part of this phone call is being recorded and nothing about this phone call or our prior interactions have given me any indication that Bucky or you are being harmed. If you were neglecting or abusing Bucky, you wouldn’t be contacting a professional service for communication assistance or advice for braille learning. I admit, it is a little suspicious that you don’t want Bucky to physically interact with anybody at the Center, but that’s not enough for me to report it.”

“So…if Bucky and I came in, then you’d see that he’s fine and I’m fine and you’d help us and you wouldn’t contact APS?”

“Yes, exactly. Like I said, if Bucky isn’t comfortable coming here, I can arrange for a braille instructor to visit you at home or meet you at a neutral location.”

“I’ll have to talk to Buck about all of this and see what he thinks.”

“Of course. You can send me an email when you’re ready to set up a meeting. If Bucky decides he absolutely doesn’t want physical contact with us, that’s fine. We can give you the resources you’ll need, but Bucky’s learning would really go better if he were given guidance by one of our braille instructors.”

Steve isn’t going to commit to anything before talking to Bucky. The eyes and ears have to report before conveying a decision.

“Thank you for taking the time to explain all this, Cecilia. I really do appreciate it. I’ll talk to Buck about it and see what he thinks.”

*             *             *

Bucky is suspicious about the whole thing, but when Steve asks Nat to look into it and she confirms that HKNC doesn’t have the legal authority to keep Bucky at the Center against his will, they decide to give it a try.

That presents a bigger problem.

Cecilia had told him that she’d be at the meeting and she’d introduce them to a braille instructor, who will help them. She’d asked how Bucky’s progress with ASL fingerspelling was coming along and if he would be comfortable with the braille instructor communicating directly with him, using ASL fingerspelling.

Bucky doesn’t like that idea at all. “Listen, I’m gonna be stressed enough about being there and making sure I’m gonna be allowed to walk out the door when we’re done. I’m gonna be expected to learn braille stuff, which is already making my head spin anyway. If you think I can pay attention to a stranger using the stupid manual alphabet, then you’re mistaken. You can interpret and at least I’ll keep up with what’s being talked about.”

Steve reminds him for the millionth time that the American manual alphabet isn’t stupid and Bucky should be practicing more, but Bucky shrugs him off. “Yeah, yeah. We do our exercises and that’s enough. Stay focused on the more important things, Rogers.”

*             *             *

When they arrive at HKNC, Steve feels like he’s stepped into a completely new world.

He’s seen a few random people using canes in public, but almost every person he sees here is using a cane. He’s never seen so many canes sweeping around. It’s difficult to stay focused on guiding Bucky and watching where they’re going when there are so many canes everywhere. His eyes automatically check what cane tips they’re using and he tries to guess based on people’s cane movements whether they have any vision or not.

It’s also…quiet. They pass groups of people who are having animated conversations, but Steve can tell that they’re using ASL. None of them are using their voices. It’s April, so it’s still a bit chilly out, but it’s warm enough that people don’t have to wear gloves anymore, which Steve knows makes outdoor tactile communication much easier.

Some people are using their voices to communicate, and he can identify some people who must have quite a bit of vision and hearing, since they’re not using a cane and they’re having conversations without using their hands.

It’s the first time that Steve realizes that Bucky’s not alone. He’s always known that there are other deafblind people in New York, but their little world has stayed so small since Bucky came home from the hospital that they hadn’t encountered any deafblind people in the real world. Talking to deafblind individuals online is a whole other thing, because their existence didn’t seem real to Steve.

But here he’s seeing dozens of deafblind people, walking around, talking to each other, smiling and enjoying life.

He realizes the only reason there are so many deafblind people here is because people come from all over the country to learn at the Center, but it’s still an incredible feeling.

Bucky isn’t alone. He really isn’t alone. If he wanted to, he could make friends with dozens of deafblind people who would understand what he’s going through and could relate to his daily struggles.

Well—that’s not quite true. As he passes another group who are having a three-way conversation in ASL—which leaves Steve gaping at them—he’s reminded that Bucky actually can’t talk to any deafblind people directly. Not yet, anyway.

Bucky’s enthusiasm for learning ASL hasn’t increased, but Steve thinks that the lure of being able to communicate with other deafblind people may be enough to change his mind. But he doesn’t want to start another argument about ASL right now. They have other things to focus on.

And Steve also sternly reminds himself to not let his guard down. Even though the Center doesn’t have a gate, the doors appear to be unlocked and everybody has smiles on their faces, he still doesn’t trust that all of these people are here voluntarily.

That’s also why Bucky is wearing the SPOT underneath his clothes. If these people do detain Bucky, hopefully they won’t discover the SPOT and Steve will be able to track him and either break him out or keep an eye on him while Natasha’s lawyers go to work again.

Before they enter the Center, Steve pulls Bucky to a stop and tells him about the other deafblind people he’s seeing around them.

Bucky seems surprised. He flips their hands around and tells Steve he didn’t really believe there would be a lot of people here.

Steve confirms that there are.

Bucky wants to know if they’re really deafblind.

Well, Steve has no way of actually confirming it, but he tells Bucky that there are separate Centers for blind individuals, and deaf people wouldn’t be using canes, so he guesses that most of the people he’s seeing are really deafblind.

Bucky wants to know if any of their interpreters are faster than Steve.

Chuckling, Steve gently smacks Bucky’s arm, and then he tells him that most people don’t appear to be using interpreters. They’re talking directly to each other.

Bucky blinks. “How?” He’s so surprised that he forgets to spell it out.

“They’re using ASL.”

“The fingerspelling?”

Steve tries to discreetly stare at some of the people signing to each other. Sometimes he recognizes a few signals as being the letters he and Bucky had learned, but he can’t understand most of the signs.

“It don’t look like it. Spelling things out takes forever, you know that. They’re probably using actual ASL and they’re just spelling things that don’t have signs.”

Bucky has a weird look on his face—which Steve hopes will lead to an ASL discussion later—but for now, they have to stay focused. He reminds Bucky why they’re here and that they’ll be meeting Cecilia and a braille instructor.

“Right. Okay, let’s go. And keep—” Bucky abruptly closes his mouth and flips their hands around to finish his sentence non-verbally. He wants Steve to keep an eye on all the doors and formulate an escape plan, just in case.

Steve taps his hand.

Then Bucky tells him to double check that his phone is tracking the SPOT properly.

Steve pulls his phone out, confirms that it is, and then they’re ready. Steve guides Bucky into the building and tells the receptionist that they’re here for a meeting with Cecilia.

They’re shown into a small room and Steve deliberately chooses their seats so Bucky stays closest to the door and Steve is right next to him, but he has a good eye line of the door and the hallway.

A few minutes later, an Asian woman comes into the room, followed closely by an old Caucasian man. Steve quickly tells Bucky that the staff members are here, and helps him stand up and turn to face them.

“Steve? I’m Cecilia. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” Cecilia says, shaking his hand.

“Hello, Cecilia. Let me introduce you to Bucky. Hang on.” He tells Bucky that Cecilia wants to greet him and Bucky pastes his polite gentleman smile on his face.

“Hello, Cecilia. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for helping us.”

Cecilia shakes Bucky’s hand and then releases it. “We’re happy to help.”

Steve grabs Bucky’s hand and interprets what Cecilia said. Then Cecilia introduces the old man as Eric, who is a braille instructor.

“Hello, Steve. It’s nice to meet you,” Eric says, holding out his hand.

Steve extends his hand, but to his surprise, Eric doesn’t move his hand to meet his. It takes Steve a second to realize that Eric must be blind.

Right away, Steve gets annoyed at himself for not noticing that earlier. He can see that Eric isn’t looking directly at Steve. Instead, he’s staring at a point over Steve’s shoulder, which should have been a big clue. But maybe he’s so used to Bucky’s vacant stare that he no longer realizes when other people do it too.

He moves his hand to meet Eric’s and then quickly tells Bucky about Eric and that he’s blind.

Bucky’s polite smile fades a bit and he flips their hands around and demands to know how the hell a blind person is going to teach another blind person how to read.

Steve tells him not to be rude and to focus. If this man is a braille instructor, it must be possible.

When it comes time for Bucky and Eric to shake hands, Steve is a bit lost. He has no idea if he’s supposed to grab both of their hands and bring them together, or if that’s only acceptable if he does it with Bucky?

But while Steve is having that mental debate, Bucky and Eric move their hands around and find each other. They greet each other and then everybody has a seat.

Steve notices that Eric sits on Bucky’s other side and he’s been carrying an enormous binder that he puts on the table.

Cecilia smiles at them. “Steve, I want you to know that we’ll move at whatever pace you and Bucky are comfortable at. If Bucky doesn’t want us to communicate directly with him, that’s fine. If he’s willing to listen to Eric and myself while you interpret, that’s also fine. When it comes to introducing the activities, it would really be beneficial if Eric shows Bucky how to do them directly, but if either of you aren’t comfortable with that, that’s fine.”

Steve pulls Bucky’s hand under the table and tells him what Cecilia said. Bucky spends some time thinking it over. Finally, he tells Steve non-verbally that he wants Steve to interpret and Steve needs to pay attention because Bucky will let him know if he’s no longer comfortable.

Steve taps Bucky’s hand and then moves their hands to the surface of the table.

Bucky pastes the polite smile on his face again. “It’s fine, you can both talk to me, and Steve will interpret. I’m fine with Eric touching my hand, as long as Steve tells me ahead of time what he’s doing and what I’ll be touching and why.”

Both Cecilia and Eric acknowledge Bucky’s requirements, and then they get right into it. Steve can tell immediately that he’s dealing with people who understand how interpreting works, because Cecilia pauses every few words to allow Steve to catch up.

“So as I explained to Steve—and I’m sure he explained to you, Bucky—you need to develop more tactile perception skills and increase your tactile sensitivity. These skills are essential for reading braille, but they’ll help you in all aspects of your life. You’ll be able to gather much more information about your environment and fine-tune your skills in everything you do. I’m going to have Eric explain what skills you’ll have to master and what exercises you can do to practice those skills.”

That’s Eric’s cue to lean forward. “Steve, since I can’t see when you’re finished interpreting for Bucky, please let me know verbally when I can continue or if should repeat something.”

“Okay.”

“Along with tactile perception and tactile sensitivity, Bucky, you will also have to learn how to read braille properly and efficiently. Understanding what the cells mean is only a small part of becoming an efficient braille reader. There are right and wrong ways of moving your fingers when reading braille, just like there are right and wrong ways to read print visually. There are techniques you can learn which will help you keep track of what you’re reading, where you’re reading and will allow you to read faster.”

That’s when it really hits Steve that these people know what they’re doing. They actually know what being deaf and blind and deafblind is all about.

As Steve interprets what Eric said, he sees a smile growing on Bucky’s face. Steve is happy to see that it’s a genuine smile, not his fake polite smile. Clearly, Bucky is having the same realization that Steve is.

Bucky directs a smile in Eric’s direction—probably forgetting about the fact that Eric can’t see his smile. “Can you excuse us for just a second?”

“Absolutely.”

Bucky pulls Steve’s hand off the table and tells him what Steve’s been thinking: ‘This is amazing’.

Then he happily jostles Steve’s hand, while Steve jostles his hand back.

Also: Bucky tells him he’s changed his mind. He’s no longer worried about not being allowed to leave. Instead, he wants to stay here forever. Steve can go get Maggie and they can move into HKNC and they’ll spend the rest of their lives learning how to do things.

Steve bursts out laughing. He realizes they’re being a bit rude, since neither Cecilia nor Eric know what they’re talking about, but he doesn’t want to embarrass them by explaining about their earlier fears.

He knows exactly how Bucky’s feeling. These are people who know exactly what Bucky’s going through and they have the tools and knowledge to help him.

Both he and Bucky are smiling like lunatics and they’re jostling and tapping their joined hands, but this is a big moment.

Steve catches Cecilia’s eyes. “Sorry, we’re just—this is really, really exciting.”

Cecilia smiles. “That’s understandable. You and Bucky have been through a lot and what you’ve accomplished so far by yourselves is amazing, but this is what I was trying to explain to you: we will never force help on anybody, but if anybody is stuck or confused or scared, then we have the resources to help.”

Bucky’s smile gets even wider when Steve finishes telling him what Cecilia said. “That’s—that’s so wonderful. Thank you both. This…this means the world to me.”

Eric smiles kindly. “I have to warn you: doing these exercises isn’t easy and you’ll probably have moments of frustration and a desire to give up, but I promise that if you persevere and learn these skills, you’ll be reading books within a few months.”

For the first time since he’d told Bucky about braille, Steve feels that thrill of excitement run through him again.

Bucky’s grin could power the entire building. “I’ll work hard, I really will. If you show me the way, I’ll get there.”

Eric smiles. “I have no doubt. If you’re ready, we’ll get started right now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Where you as surprised as Steve to learn the reason behind Bucky's braille-reading difficulties, or did you guess it ahead of time?
> 
> Next Chapter: We'll see what tactile exercises are in Eric's binder and the boys will meet somebody special!


	83. Chapter 83

Once Cecilia sees that they’re comfortable interacting with Eric, she excuses herself and tells them to call her or email her whenever they need help with anything else.

They spend an hour with Eric, learning about the different exercises Eric wants Bucky to do and in what order they should be done and how often. Eric’s first suggestion is to have Bucky do very basic tactile exercises to start training his fingers to become more sensitive to different textures and shapes.

When Eric starts listing different exercises, such as identifying different types of fabrics, making art projects using different mediums like sand, gravel and different types of leaves, Bucky starts laughing.

“Oh, I’m real good at all that. I’ve been doing stuff like that for months, ever since the sur—the car acc—since I lost my sight and hearing. I’ve been knitting and making pinhole art too. All of that helps develop those skills, right?”

Steve gently squeezes Bucky’s thigh under the table, feeling a surge of pride run through him.

“Absolutely.” Eric is smiling and he looks impressed. “It’s great that you’ve already started developing your tactile skills, Bucky. That means you’ll be able to advance through the exercises much faster. Let me show you what the next level of exercises is.”

That’s when he pulls over the enormous binder and lets Bucky feel it. It’s filled with thick sheets of paper covered in dots which Bucky will use to do the exercises.

Some sheets have braille on them, others are just covered in lines of dots and the lines are different lengths and are composed of different numbers of dots, and other pages have zig-zag lines of dots, or dots making up geometric shapes. The ones in geometric shapes immediately make Bucky remark that they feel like his pinhole art projects.

Eric explains how to do some of the exercises and gets Bucky’s permission to guide his hand along the pages, demonstrating how Bucky will do the exercises. The back of the binder has sheets of printed instructions which Steve should follow.

“The exercises must be done in specific order. Don’t skip ahead if something is difficult. Instead, take breaks and repeat previous exercises.”

“Okay.”

“And please don’t frustrate yourself by trying to read a book or any other braille text before you’ve mastered these skills. You should continue to do whatever exercises you were doing to practice cell configurations, but leave any embossed material alone until you’ve successfully finished this program.”

“What’s ‘embossed’ mean?”

“Print text is printed on a page, but braille dots are embossed. It’s terminology that you’ll become familiar with. What I was trying to say is: don’t read any material that has braille text on it, except if you’re just using that braille material to do these exercises. Confidence is key and you need to protect your confidence the best you can.”

That makes Bucky smile and discreetly spell out: ‘I like this man’.

Steve agrees.

When they’re done going over the structure of the lessons, Eric gives Steve his email address and phone number, telling them to contact him if they have any problems and he’d like them to come in once a week so he can check on Bucky’s progress and make sure they’re moving in the right direction.

They thank Eric a dozen times, Steve puts the huge binder into his bag and then they head out of the center.

Bucky is so excited about starting the lessons that Steve has to keep a tight grip on his jacket or he’ll walk off by himself. Steve is just as excited to get home and start the exercises, but he remembers having seen something when they came up the driveway of the Center and he wants to show it to Bucky before they leave.

“Jesus, slow down, Barnes. Quit racing ahead. And before we go, there’s something I saw at the entrance that I wanna show you.”

“What did you see?”

“Patience, Barnes. You’ll see.”

*             *             *

The next time Steve signals him to stop, he tells Bucky to put away his cane because he’ll need his hand to see what Steve wants to show him.

“I can touch things when my cane’s dangling.”

Sure, Steve tells him. But does he really wanna try wandering through bushes with his cane?

“Bushes? Where the hell are you taking me?”

Steve tells him they’re going to do the same procedure they use whenever they’re in a very crowded area.

“Okay, fine. But this better be worth it.”

Tap, tap.

Bucky puts away his cane, stands behind Steve and grab the back of his jacket in a tight grip. When Steve starts moving, Bucky follows and off they go, walking very slowly. Bucky can feel when Steve steps up onto something and he shuffles along until his toes hit a step and he steps up. There’s only one, so maybe it was a curb? And the ground is suddenly soft, definitely not pavement anymore.

Then Steve is walking even slower and Bucky feels things brushing past his thighs. They feel like plants?

Where the hell is Rogers taking him?!

After a few more steps, Steve comes to a stop. He grabs Bucky’s hand and tells him to try to figure out what he’s looking at. Then his hand is put onto something solid. It feels like metal and Bucky can feel that the top is level with his chest. There’s nothing interesting on top, so he explores the front side.

Right away, he encounters metallic objects that are stuck to the large piece of metal. There are many of them, and when he explores them in more detail, he realizes they’re all different shapes. Finding the first one, he runs his hand along the entire shape and realizes it’s an H.

These must be letters, spelling something. It must be some kind of [sign](http://www.cucumberlemon.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/09/HelenKellerCenter.jpg).

The next letter has a long vertical line and three horizontal lines coming out of it. E.

Then there’s another long, vertical line, and it has one horizontal line connected to the bottom. L.

Then there’s another E…

…and Bucky starts to smile, because even before he confirms that the next letter is an ‘N’, he knows what it spells. “It says Helen! It’s cause this is Helen’s Center!”

Tap, tap, tap.

Steve helps him read the rest of the sign, every letter being made from thick metal that’s been stuck to the large sign so deafblind people can read it.

‘Helen Keller National Center For Deaf-Blind Youths and Adults’

“That’s really the name, huh?”

Tap, tap. Steve reminds him that he told him that’s what it’s called.

“I know. I just…I didn’t realize they really had the word ‘deafblind’ in there. It’s…it’s really a place to help people like me, ain’t it?”

Tap, tap. Hand squeeze.

Then Steve tells him he hasn’t encountered the best part yet. He brings Bucky’s hand right below where it says ‘Helen’, and then leaves him to explore.

This shape is different. It has an edge, but it’s not a defined, linear edge like the letters. In fact, it’s covered in dips, ridges and different types of lines and textures. It reminds him of Steve’s tactile paintings. It isn’t until he feels something that must be a nose, followed by a pair of lips right below that he realizes he’s touching a face. “It’s a face, ain’t it?”

Tap. Steve helps him explore the face’s eyes, nose, lips and the hair. Bucky can feel the precise waves and curls of the pinned up hair, and an earring in the person’s ear. Below the face, he feels a neck and different textures that resemble clothing.

He’s so focused on figuring out what’s what that he doesn’t realize who’s face it is, until Steve asks him if he’s realized whose face it is.

“How the hell would I know whose…oh!”

It’s Helen. It must be. “It’s Helen, ain’t it?”

Tap.

Suddenly, he feels overcome with emotion. He’s learned a lot about Helen and she’s been a role model for him for months, but he’s gotten used to not knowing how most people around him look. He knows what Steve and Natasha look like, and for everybody else, he just mentally conjures up an image of how he thinks they look.

He’s had an image of how Helen looks in his mind, but he didn’t think he’d ever get to really see what she looks like. Having Steve describe somebody’s appearance to him doesn’t allow him to picture the small details that make people’s face unique.

He continues exploring Helen’s face, memorizing what he’s feeling and painting a mental picture of what his hand is telling him. “I can see her, Stevie! I can see Helen!”

He feels Steve wrap his arms around him and kiss his neck.

Bucky’s smiling and he can’t seem to stop touching Helen’s face. If this were a picture of anybody else, Bucky may feel he’s being disrespectful by touching them for so long, but he knows Helen would understand how much this moment means to him. “You know what I think, Steve?”

A question mark is drawn on the back of his exploring hand.

“I think your ma went looking for Helen up there and told her we needed help, and that’s why her Center is right here in New York and that’s why they’re helping us learn things and that’s why I know what Helen looks like now.”

Steve squeezes his arms around him.

“Thanks for showing me the sign. Can we stay a while?”

Steve tells him they can stay as long as he wants. He asks Bucky if he wants to know what the rest of the sign says.

“There’s more?”

Apparently there’s more writing on the sign, but the letters are a lot smaller, so Steve can tell Bucky what is says, or he’ll help him read it.

“Nah, just tell me.”

It’s the mission of HKNC, which was based off of Helen’s life-long work of being a disability advocate. It says:

_Dedicated to the fulfillment of her dream of equal opportunity for all who are deafblind to live as valued members of their homes and communities._

Then there’s a quote by Helen:

_‘While they were saying among themselves ‘it cannot be done’, it was done.’_

That makes Bucky smile. The mission statement and the quote remind Bucky of all of his new goals: reading braille, making ‘Knitting on the Q’ a success, finding volunteer work and doing chores at home. He’s going to become a valued member of his home and community and nothing’s gonna stop him.

And he’s going to learn how to read again.

It may take him some time, but he’ll get there. He doesn’t care what obstacles are in his way, he can do it. “Okay, let’s go home. We’ve got work to do.”

*             *             *

Now that Bucky understands that learning to read braille won’t be a quick process, he makes sure he stays focused on other items on his ‘to-do’ list so he doesn’t get bored or discouraged. Their visit to Helen’s Center had gone so well and Bucky feels newly motivated and more determined than ever to keep working on his to-do list.

He’s decided the third highest priority item—next to braille learning and his knitting store—is finding volunteer work.

That’s…turning out to be a lot more difficult than either he or Steve thought it would be. Even though people are desperate for volunteer workers in some areas, the same issues which limited Bucky’s paid job prospects are limiting his volunteer experiences.

It’s actually quite discouraging, so they only research for about an hour a day because they don’t want their entire day to be ruined by their lack of success.

Bucky usually sits on Steve’s desk, while Steve sits at the computer and they brainstorm ideas. Whenever they get an idea that seems promising, Steve looks up information about it or calls the organization for information and tells Bucky what he finds out.

They’ve had nothing but dead-ends since their search had started and Bucky can’t help but feel a little more discouraged each day, but he refuses to give up. Look at all the things he can do by himself in the apartment! Surely there’s something that somebody needs a volunteer for that he could handle.

They’ve already had to dismiss a ton of neat opportunities. Steve had spoken the volunteer coordinator at the animal shelter where they had adopted Maggie, but he was told that Bucky’s disabilities put him at a high risk of injury, since he can’t see or hear aggression indicators from the animals. Volunteering at the Y is a dead-end too. All the positions require computer usage and/or dealing with members of the public.

Today, Steve is researching the Brooklyn Botanic Garden. It’s still winter so the garden isn’t very busy, but Steve is proud of how well Bucky takes care of his plants at home, so he thinks he could do it.

Bucky’s already told him it wouldn’t work out, but the stubborn punk is insisting on reading through the garden’s volunteer requirements page.

After some reading, Steve tells him the work seems…tough. Bucky can already tell by his spelling style that Steve’s lost his earlier enthusiasm for this opportunity.

“Like I told you: it wouldn’t work. I can’t water a big garden with my little water bottle, and I can take care of my plants because I know what the healthy and sick leaves feel like. I’d need help learning how to differentiate between the plants I’d be dealing with. Plus, it would take me forever to figure out how to get around. I’d be in the way and I wouldn’t be able to talk to people if they talk to me, plus, they’d stare at me. I don’t care about that, but the garden staff probably do.”

Steve tells him he’d help him.

Bucky struggles to contain an annoyed sigh. “Rogers, we’ve talked about this a million times. That would only work if you were with me all the time and the whole point of this is for me to have something to do that’s just my thing, not a ‘Steve-helping-Bucky’ thing.”

He realizes his annoyance is probably seeping into his tone, but he can’t help it. Besides, he’s not annoyed with Steve; he’s annoyed with their lack of success. He squeezes Steve’s hand as an apology. “It was a good idea, but I’d rather we take longer to find something that I can really do on my own. Or do we wanna focus on me doing chores instead?”

Bucky knows what Steve’s response will be before he feels it. Sure enough, Steve rubs his hand and tells him they shouldn’t give up on volunteering yet. He’s sure they’ll find something, they just have to be more creative and do more research.

What he doesn’t say is that he’ll do anything in the world to keep Bucky distracted from wanting to do chores. His attempts to distract Bucky are ridiculously transparent, but Bucky won’t call him on it. As long as they’re moving forward with one of Bucky’s goals, he’s not going to confront Steve about his ridiculous worrying over Bucky doing chores.

He will eventually, but not yet.

The fact that their search for volunteer work isn’t going so well doesn’t make Bucky nearly as sad as it would have a few weeks ago. He’s getting a regular stream of orders from his knitting store and that keeps him busy and happy. Once a week, Boss-Bucky and Employee-Steve have a meeting during which Employee-Steve tells him how much money they’ve spent on supplies, how much money they’ve made on orders, how many orders they’ve had and what their weekly profit was. Some weeks they do a little better than others, but it’s an amazing feeling when Employee-Steve tells him that he’s made a profit of $20 or even $50 in a single week.

Since he’s started to educate himself more about what certain things cost in this century, he knows that’s not a lot of money—and his profit would be nothing if he had to actually pay Employee-Steve—but it’s money that he made with his own hand—and those of Employee-Steve’s—and it’s more money than he was making a few weeks ago (namely: zero), so it’s a wonderful feeling.

Then there’s the day Bucky goes to a therapy session and when he sits down, he’s surprised to lean back against a new blanket that’s draped over the back of the couch. After touching it for a few seconds, he can tell it’s been knitted with wool, and after a bit more exploring, he starts to recognize his own handiwork. It’s not a blanket that he’d gifted Leon, so he knows there’s only one way his creation could have ended up here.

Of course, Leon pleads ignorance. He tells Bucky that accepting gifts from patients or conducting financial transactions other than payment for their sessions would be a conflict of interest. However, Leon doesn’t control what his wife does online and if she happens to be interested in a certain blog that Leon happens to be interested in as well, and if she happens to find a link to a knitting store on that blog, visits it and places a few orders, that’s her business. If Leon happens to love the scarf and blanket that she’d ordered and then asked her to place an order for a blanket that he can put into his office, that’s his business.

Then Bucky has one of those moments when he’s both crying and smiling so hard that he needs to take several minutes to calm down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm basing Bucky's tactile perception and sensitivity training on the Mangold Braille Program. [Here](http://www.comenius-eveil.eu/dokumente/upload/60ac4_mangold-braille-programm.pdf) is a pdf copy of the teacher's guide for the program. The lessons start on page 4. Bucky will start to work on the lessons in the next chapter!


	84. Chapter 84

The new braille lessons are a lot more successful than their search for volunteer work. They’re hard, but manageable.

The first thing Bucky has to re-learn is how to properly move his fingers over the braille dots. Eric had pointed out that rubbing and pressing over the dots would damage them, and using too much pressure will prevent Bucky from being able to move his finger smoothly and quickly.

Bucky still thinks the idea that he’ll ever be reading quickly enough to glide his finger across the page at a steady pace is ludicrous—but if Eric says proper technique is important, then that’s what Bucky will learn.

It’s difficult getting the feel for how much pressure to apply when feeling the dots, so Eric suggested doing a tactile exercise. Steve sets up a piece of sandpaper and puts lines of flour on it and Bucky has to move the pad of his index finger along the line of flour without losing track of the line, but without moving the flour enough to encounter the sandpaper underneath.

Bucky laughs off the exercise at first, thinking it’s ridiculously simple…

…until he starts running his finger along the flour and immediately feels the sandpaper underneath.

What’s worse is that Steve tells him that he made the flour line twice as thick as Eric has suggested.

“Damn. I guess I’ve really been too rough, huh?”

Steve laughs and tells him he did the same thing. He got a little further along on his first flour line before he felt the sandpaper, but they both have lots of work to do.

Bucky smirks in his direction, but inside, his heart is glowing.

Steve had decided that he’s going to learn how to read braille tactilely too. When they were in the hackie on their way home from HKNC, Steve had started asking him when Bucky thinks ‘they’ should start the exercises and how quickly Bucky thinks ‘they’ will progress.

Bucky had reminded him that Steve doesn’t have to put himself through this. He can read braille visually just fine, so if Bucky needs help with something, Steve can read the braille visually.

But no, Steve told him he wants to learn how to do it right.

E-O-T-L-I.

They start waking up a little earlier so they can do some braille practice together before Steve starts work. Bucky can do some of the exercises by himself, but he likes doing them together with Steve so he can check if his answers are right. They do more exercises after lunch and a few more after dinner.

To make things fair, Steve reads the printed instructions for the day’s exercises first and tells Bucky what they’ll be doing. The next step is putting on his new blindfold. He’d bought himself a [special blindfold](http://mindfold.com/) that resembles padded goggles. The goggles seal to his face and don’t allow any light to penetrate but the goggles allow him to keep his eyes open and blink normally. It’s much nicer than tying a strap of cloth over his eyes.

It’s a natural instinct to look at braille papers with his eyes but he knows he won’t be doing the exercises properly if he gets even a glimpse of what the dots look like on the page. This blindfold makes it impossible for him to see the braille. Once the goggles are secure on his face, he opens the [exercise binder](http://www.comenius-eveil.eu/dokumente/upload/60ac4_mangold-braille-programm.pdf) filled with the tactile sheets. He pulls out the exercise sheet they need—they put little sticky tabs to mark their place in the binder—and he pins it to a corkboard and does the exercise first.

He scribbles his answers onto a piece of paper, and then he takes off his blindfold and watches while Bucky does the exercise and verbally tells Steve what he thinks the answers are.

Even though some of the exercises appear to be using braille cell configurations, Eric had told them to ignore what braille cells the dots represent until the exercise book specifically tells them to identify the cells.

*             *             *

Lesson 1:

## ⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁

## ⠃⠃⠃⠃⠃⠃⠃⠃⠃⠃⠃⠃⠃⠃⠃⠃⠃⠃⠃

## ⠇⠇⠇⠇⠇⠇⠇⠇⠇⠇⠇⠇⠇⠇⠇⠇⠇⠇⠇

## ⠃⠃⠃⠃⠃⠃⠃⠃⠃⠃⠃⠃⠃⠃⠃⠃⠃⠃⠃

## ⠇⠇⠇⠇⠇⠇⠇⠇⠇⠇⠇⠇⠇⠇⠇⠇⠇⠇⠇

## ⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁

## ⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁

“First line has one dot. Second line has two dots. Third line has three dots. Fourth line has three dots—”

Rub, rub.

“Wrong? Shit. Hang on.” Bucky slides his finger back to the start of the line and tries again. He definitely feels three dots…

He slides up to the line above…and those are two dots. What the hell? Didn’t the third line have three dots?

Oh. “Shit, I forgot to move down a line. Again.”

Steve squeezes his thigh.

Not skipping lines or not repeating lines is another tough new skill Bucky has to learn. Steve has the benefit of being able to use his left hand while reading. He can keep his left hand on the left margin of the line and just slide down to the next line and then move his right finger to where his left hand is waiting.

Eric’s shown Bucky what method he’ll have to use to move to a new line, due to his missing left hand. When Bucky reaches the end of a line, he zooms over what he just read until he reaches the left margin, then he moves down a line and starts reading the new line.

Many times, he slides down too far, or he forgets to slide down at all and just re-reads the same line.

“Okay, shit. Let me start again.”

Finding the top of the page, he rubs his finger along the line of dots—then he remembers that’s wrong too. Damn it, come on, Barnes.

He forces himself to lighten the pressure of his finger on the dots and then he’s ready to go again.

He glides along the little dots, carefully paying attention to what he’s feeling. “Line 1 is all one dot.” When he runs out of dots, he slides backwards along the line until he runs out of dots. Sliding down carefully, he feels for the start of the new line of dots. Finding it, he mentally prepares himself, adjusts the pressure of his finger and starts tracking.

“Line 2 is all two dots. Line 3 has three dots. Line 4 has two dots.”

*             *             *

Lesson 4:

## ⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁

## ⠁  ⠁  ⠁  ⠁  ⠁  ⠁  ⠁  ⠁  ⠁  ⠁  ⠁  ⠁  ⠁  ⠁  ⠁  ⠁  ⠁  ⠁  ⠁

## ⠁ ⠁ ⠁ ⠁ ⠁ ⠁ ⠁ ⠁ ⠁ ⠁ ⠁ ⠁ ⠁ ⠁ ⠁ ⠁ ⠁ ⠁ ⠁ ⠁ ⠁ ⠁ ⠁ ⠁

“What’s the question again?”

Steve tells him he needs to put the lines in order, using the spacing distance between the dots. Smallest spaces to largest spaces.

“Okay…Rogers, I don’t feel no difference between the second and third lines. The book’s wrong.”

Steve tells him the book’s right, but Bucky’s re-reading line two.

“Oh, fuck! Jesus. Okay, let me try again. From the top….Okay, here we go…line 1…line 2…and line 3…Oh, that’s tricky! Line 1’s got the smallest spaces, but let me do two and three again…Damn, they’re similar…Okay, okay, I got it: line 2 has the biggest spaces. So the order of smallest to biggest is one, three, two.”

Tap, tap, tap.

“Yay! Did you get it?”

Tap, tap.

“Yay! Okay, next one.”

Steve tells him he has to put the five lines in order of smallest spaces to largest spaces.

“Five? Shit. Okay, I’ll try.”

*             *             *

Lesson 9:

## ⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁

## ⠃⠃⠃⠃⠃

## ⠇⠇⠇⠇⠇⠇⠇⠇⠇⠇

## ⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁⠁

As soon as Steve tells him it’s one of the ‘put the lines in order of shortest to longest’ exercises, Bucky loses his enthusiasm for practicing. “I hate doing those ones. They’re so damn hard.”

Tap, tap. Steve agrees. But that’s why they have to keep doing them.

“Alright, fine. Let’s go.”

He especially hates these exercises because he’s gotten used to the dots extending all the way to the right margin of the page, and if they don’t, the shock of having the line end abruptly makes him lose track of what he’s doing. But he knows that lines of braille in books come in different lengths—just like printed text does in printed books—so Bucky has to get used to having the lines end abruptly.

He carefully reads the four lines multiple times. Jesus, these are hard. He has to tell Steve how many dots are in each line, he has to move to the next line properly and he has to remember how long each line was.

It must look so damn simple to sighted people. He must look ridiculous, reading over four small lines of dots and trying to compare their lengths.

“Shit. I know Line 2’s the shortest, and I think Line 3 is the second shortest, but Lines 1 and 4 feel so similar. Damn it. Oh, this is tough.”

He tracks over the four lines again, but he still can’t figure it out. “Damn. I can’t remember how long Line 1 is by the time I get down to Line 4. Can’t you help me skip the other two?”

Rub, rub. Steve tells him the exercise book says this isn’t just a tactile perception exercise, but it’s a speed exercise. If Bucky reads the lines faster, he’ll be able to figure it out.

It’s exactly like print reading: If Bucky reads too slowly, then of course he won’t remember what was on the top of the page by the time he gets to the bottom.

Bucky sighs. “Alright, fine.”

When Bucky tries moving from line to line faster, all he ends up doing is skipping lines and confusing himself. A wave of frustration runs through him. “Rogers…”

Steve squeezes his thigh. He reminds Bucky that he can’t do it either and it’ll take time.

That’s one of those times when they put the exercise sheet away for a few days and spend time re-doing previous lessons to re-boost their confidence.

*             *             *

Lesson 14:

## ⠇⠇⠇⠶⠇⠇⠇

## ⠃⠃⠃⠃⠑⠃⠃⠃⠃⠃

## ⠯⠯⠿⠯⠿⠯⠯

“Okay, I’m looking for the ones that are different from the rest and counting them…oh, this one’s easy! Right here, the little cluster. See where I’m pointing?”

Tap, tap.

“Next line…oh, shit, this one’s harder. They all felt the same. Let me try again. I liked these exercises better when I had to find the big star amongst the little dots.”

He can feel Steve press his smile against his neck and squeeze his thigh.

Despite how difficult the lessons are, Bucky can feel how much progress they’re making and how much they’re improving.

“Alright, let’s focus. I’m at the beginning of the line, good pressure, okay, here we go…oh, there it is! Right in the middle! The dots ain’t right over each other, but they’re diagonal. My finger’s right on it, is it right?”

Tap, tap.

He checks the rest of the line, and he reaches the end of it without feeling any more diagonal lines of dots. “That’s it, just the one that’s different. Alright, next one…okay, I’m at the beginning of the line, here we go…Oh! Oh, I felt the different one, but there’s more than one! Let me go again…it’s right _here_ , Steve…and _here_.”

Steve asks him which cell numbers are the ones that are different.

“Oh, Jesus. You’re making me work today, ain’t you? Okay, let me try…cell…3…and cell…5, right?”

Tap, tap, tap. Steve kisses his cheek and happily jostles them.

Bucky’s grinning. “It’s amazing. I can actually _feel_ that I’m getting better. I can actually _feel_ the cells. It feels like the dots are bigger now. I know they ain’t, but I guess it’s cause my fingers are getting more used to the dots.”

*             *             *

“Alright, Rogers, you ready?”

They’re sitting across from each other and they have a copy of the same sheet in front of them, pinned to a corkboard. They’re holding four little pins in their hand and when Bucky says ‘go’, they’ll start the speed-reading exercise.

“Ready?”

Tap, tap.

Bucky pulls his hand back and finds the top of the page and gets himself mentally prepared. Deep breath, double check that he’s at the start of the line, good finger pressure, and he’s ready.

“Okay, ready…get set…go!”

He tracks along the first line and quickly zooms back to the left margin, drops down and properly tracks over the second line. When he reaches the end, he sticks a pin into the page and then drops down to the third line.

That’s when it gets tricky. It’s a speed reading exercise, but also a perception exercise.

He finds the fifth line and puts a pin in it, and then he moves as quickly as possible, tracking and counting lines until he reaches the end of the eleventh line (he hopes it’s the eleventh one) and sticks a pin into it. Then he tracks until he runs out of lines and sticks the last pin at the end of the last line.

“Done!” He smacks his hand into the middle of the table, and moments later, he feels Steve’s hand smack on top of his.

“I win!”

Steve smacks his hand and tells him not to get ahead of himself and to hand over his sheet.

“Yeah, yeah.”

They swap sheets and carefully check the pin positions. Bucky is desperately hoping that Steve got at least one pin wrong, but after he checks it twice, he’s forced to admit that the damn man got them all right!

“You’re good. How did I do?”

Steve tells him he got the eleventh line wrong. He put the pin into the tenth line instead.

“What? No, I didn’t! Let me see the sheet!” He gropes across the table, finds his corkboard and pulls it towards him. He doesn’t bother tracking the lines properly, instead, he finds the left margin and slides down, counting the lines.

Sure enough, there’s a pin next to the tenth line. But Bucky had been so sure…

…oh, wait a minute!

He feels the area next to the eleventh line, and immediately feels the little hole left behind from where he’d actually put his pin! To prevent them from cheating, Steve goes to HKNC every few days to pick up a new batch of exercise sheets from Eric. So Bucky knows that this pinhole isn’t leftover from having done this exercise in the past.

There’s only one explanation for why the pinhole’s there.

“Oh, you cheating scum!” His first instinct is to laugh, but he also needs to make Rogers pay.

Shoving the boards aside, Bucky swings around the table and grabs for Steve, who’s laughing too hard to try to get away from him.

“You’re unbelievable!” Bucky shouts as he starts to laugh. He pulls Steve off the chair and they tumble to the floor together.

“Trying to cheat, Rogers! Unbelievable! And you think I wouldn’t notice, huh? These fingers are trained now! They’ll catch things like that.”

Steve’s still laughing, so Bucky sits on him and starts tickling him. That makes Steve wiggle and grab for Bucky’s hand. Eventually, Steve catches Bucky’s hand and rolls them over, nuzzling Bucky’s face with his nose and kissing him. The blindfold goggles on Steve’s face keep bumping into Bucky’s face but Bucky’s too distracted with kissing Steve to bother taking them off.

Bucky feels Steve’s lips moving in between kisses, saying something.

“You better be congratulating me on my win, punk,” he mumbles against Steve’s lips.

Steve gently taps the side of Bucky’s head. He releases Bucky’s hand long enough to tell him how proud he is of him.

Bucky grins. “I’m proud of both of us. We’re doing so good, ain’t we? But I still want an apology for your dirty attempts at cheating.” He feels Steve’s blindfold goggles rubbing against his face again and he reaches up and pulls them off. It’s never a good idea for them to be fooling around when neither of them can see. They’ve made that mistake before and ended up causing a near disaster in their apartment. Maggie had not been impressed.

He feels Steve’s arm breath on his face and then Steve’s giving him a hard kiss and rubbing his hand down Bucky’s chest to his sweatpants. He cups Bucky through the pants and squeezes gently.

Bucky lets out a moan and his hips immediately press up against the pressure. “Oh, that’s a nice apology. But that ain’t enough of an apology. I need more apologizing. Hurry up.”

Releasing Bucky’s hand, Steve rolls off him and tugs Bucky’s pants and underwear down to his knees, and when Steve rolls back over him, Bucky can feel Steve’s cock nestled next to his.

“Oh, I like that,” he breathes out, waving his hand through the air. He accidentally smacks Steve in the face—“Shit, sorry!”—then finds Steve’s shirt and pulls him close.

Steve hitches a leg over Bucky’s and rocks against him, their cocks thickening as they rub against each other.

Bucky yanks Steve closer and explores his face with his nose until he finds his lips. He can feel Steve bracing himself over Bucky with one arm, his warm breath gusting over Bucky’s face and then he’s kissing Bucky, nipping his lips and sucking his tongue into his mouth.

Bucky gasps into Steve’s mouth in between kisses and thrusts up against Steve’s cock, settling into a nice rhythm. They’re both hard now and Bucky can feel his cock leaking.

“I—I—Jesus—Get your hand—Christ—” he mumbles through kisses. He feels Steve pull back and hands are running down his chest to his hips, and then his cock is engulfed in the warm, moist heat of Steve’s mouth.

Bucky groans and flails his hand around until he smacks into Steve’s shoulder. From there, he finds Steve’s neck and his hair and he tangles his hand gently in Steve’s hair, feeling Steve’s head bobbing up and down on his cock as Steve’s tongue does amazing things to the head of his cock.

“Oh, that’s nice. Oh, Jesus—oh, that’s nice. Make—make it last, okay?”

Bucky feels Steve’s hands tap on his stomach and Steve’s lips get a bit looser and his tongue slows. Eventually, Steve pulls off him entirely, takes Bucky’s hand off his hair and disappears for a few seconds, as does one of Steve’s hands. Then a warm, wet hand wraps around the base of his cock and that amazing tongue is gently licking over the head of his cock, rubbing against the leaking slit.

Bucky knows he’s letting out all sorts of noises, but he feels too good to care. The teasing seems to go on forever—Steve’s hand gently squeezes and jerks his cock and his tongue plays with the head—then he swallows him down, sucking hard and massaging his balls.

“Oh, fucking—Jesus Christ! I—God—Steve—”

When his hips start thrusting into Steve’s mouth and he feels himself seizing up, his body preparing itself to come—Steve backs off, his lips and mouth sliding off him and his hand is back, gently stroking and lightly squeezing. The change immediately pulls Bucky back from the edge and he’s left shaking and gasping.

“Rogers, I—Jesus Christ!”

Steve repeats the pattern over and over, bringing Bucky to the edge and gently yanking him back before he can tumble over it into the bliss of an orgasm. It’s frustrating and absolutely amazing.

After pulling Bucky from the edge for what feels like the hundredth time, Steve takes his hand off his cock and slides up. Then Steve’s lips are kissing up his neck and over his face. Bucky can feel Steve’s grin against his face. Bucky’s gasping too hard to make kissing an option, but he finds Steve’s neck and squeezes hard.

“I love you. You know that, right? I love you. Even if you’re cheating scum,” he gasps out. Steve’s smile gets bigger.

“Okay, now get back down there and make me come.”

Pressing a parting kiss to the tip of Bucky’s nose, Steve slides back down…and then Bucky’s cock is engulfed in that warm mouth again. Steve doesn’t tease anymore, he sucks hard and lets Bucky thrust into his mouth. It doesn’t take long until Bucky’s coming.

His orgasm is intense enough that he feels his hand digging into the carpet beneath him, his entire body tensing as the waves of pleasure wash over him. Steve loosens the pressure of his lips and lets Bucky come down his throat. When he’s done, Steve lets him slip from his mouth and slides back up his body, nuzzling his neck and waiting for Bucky to calm.

Bucky feels like half his brain is in outer space and all he can do is lie there, gasping and trembling. But he does feel Steve’s cock against his leg. He’s still hard and Bucky knows he must be aching to come.

Turning his head he nudges his nose against Steve’s and kisses him, tasting himself in Steve’s mouth. “Hey, Rogers?” He mumbles, licking his dry lips. Jesus, he needs some water.

One of Steve’s hands is on his stomach and taps it.

“You’ll be happy to know that I forgive you.”

Steve kisses Bucky hard.

Bucky licks his lips again. “So, decision time for you: You wanna come right now, or do you wanna wait, get me some water and then take me to bed where I can take my time sucking your cock, playing with your ass and then riding your cock? With Option 2, I can guarantee you two orgasms, but it’ll take longer to get there than with Option 1.”

Steve presses his smiling lips against Bucky’s cheek. He finds Bucky’s hand and spells out ‘tough choice’.

Bucky grins. “Yup. That’s what happens to cheaters. You gotta make tough decisions. And I hope you know that if you go with choice number two, you gotta carry me to bed. My legs are noodles.”

As an answer, Steve draws the number sign and then taps the tip of Bucky’s index finger. Option 2.

Grinning happily, Bucky relaxes against the carpet. “Okay. Get to work, Rogers.”

Steve disappears. Moments later, Bucky feels his pants and underwear being pulled back up over his groin, then his arm and shirt are grabbed and he’s being hauled up. Then Steve’s lifting him up and he manages to wrap his arm around Steve’s neck and his legs around Steve’s waist before Steve’s carrying him into the kitchen. He puts Bucky on the counter, then disappears before he’s back with a glass of water.

Bucky drains two glasses of water and when he declares that he’s properly hydrated, Steve picks him up and brings him to the bedroom because:

“Cheaters gotta work harder than good, honest folks like me. That’s just how it is.”

Steve’s laughter had vibrated his entire body as he’d carried Bucky to the bedroom.

*             *             *

The fact that spring has finally arrived—allowing them to spend long afternoons sitting outside on the porch swing—and the positive progress they’re making with their tactile braille exercises keep their spirits up, even when they’re confronted by other set-backs.

They still haven’t found a good volunteering opportunity for Bucky, and a week after they’ve started the tactile braille exercises, SHIELD comes to do a round of testing. Normally, these things would have dampened Bucky’s confidence and spirit, but he treats both events with the same positive attitude that Steve loves him for.

While Steve’s glad that Bucky handled the testing so well, he does get annoyed when not a week later, the intercom buzzes again and it’s Major Cheng.

Steve gives the intercom an unimpressed look and jabs the button allowing him to respond. “Seriously? Are you having memory lapses, Cheng? You were here a week ago. You know where we go every damn day anyway. You know we ain’t been to a doctor for surgery.”

“Rogers, just let me in. We’re not here for testing.”

“Well, then I ain’t under no obligation to let you in. Go away.”

He releases the intercom button and walks away. Bucky’s sitting out on the porch swing, making a pinhole project without using any stencils. It’s one of the suggestions Eric had made for giving Bucky a change from the usual exercises. He’s making print letters on the page and he’s making good enough progress that Steve can read what the letters are without having to use his imagination too much.

Maggie is in her cage, keeping a careful eye on Bucky. Since Bucky started sitting out on the balcony, Steve had noticed that Maggie would always squish herself against the bars into one specific spot in her cage, in an effort to see Bucky clearly when’s he’s sitting outside. To make things easier for her, they’ve moved her cage a bit so she can see her favourite person no matter where he’s sitting.

Steve is heading back to his desk to keep working when the intercom buzzes again. “Jesus Christ!”

Stomping back to it, he stabs the button. “Go. Away.”

“I can’t do that, Rogers. We have orders to detain Barnes. You can either let us in, or we’ll have to force our way in.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “You’re really going senile, Cheng. Your job is to _test_ Barnes, not detain him. That’s the whole point of doing the testing, so there’s no detaining.” What an idiot.

“Rogers, listen to me.” Cheng actually sounds a bit frantic, which makes Steve frown. The man is usually very calm and apathetic. Steve’s worked with him for years and he’s never heard him sound rattled. “This is serious. My team is the advance team. Our orders are to detain Barnes right now and if I don’t report back that I have him in custody within the next five minutes, SHIELD’s gonna send three other teams here and they’re gonna shoot everyone and everything in this apartment building if they’re between them and Barnes.”

That’s when panic starts to crawl up Steve’s spine. “I...What?” He forgets to press the intercom button, so Cheng doesn’t hear him, but it doesn’t matter. Cheng wasn’t finished.

“Barnes violated the terms of his contract. You know what that means. He’s going to be detained indefinitely. SHIELD is going to take him and they’re going to take him today, right now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cue ominous music*


	85. Chapter 85

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank TheLobster_29 for providing the original inspiration for this entire storyline, and Kawherp and Royal_Ermine for helping with the brainstorming.
> 
> Put on your seatbelts, folks! It’s gonna be a bumpy ride, but it’ll be worth it.

“Barnes violated the terms of his contract. You know what that means. He’s going to be detained indefinitely. SHIELD is going to take him and they’re going to take him today, right now.”

Steve blinks. “Is this a stupid joke, Cheng? It’s really not funny.”

“Rogers. Unless you want Barnes shot to death within 10 minutes, you need to open the door. The other strike teams are already here—they’re down the block and if I don’t have Barnes in custody in 3 minutes, they’re coming in.”

The change from ‘5 minutes’ to ‘3 minutes’ makes Steve realize that this is serious.

It’s all a stupid misunderstanding, of course. Bucky hadn’t violated any part of the contract, but Steve realizes that SHIELD must be acting on whatever false information they’ve received and they’re not willing to take the chance that it’s wrong.

“Fine, come in. But don’t you dare start shooting, Cheng!”

He presses the button to open the front door, then he races towards the balcony.

This is all giving him a sick sense of deja-vu. The last time he’d run out to the balcony to alert Bucky that strangers were coming into their 2apartment had resulted in Bucky being taken away for 24 hours.

That’s not going to happen now, but the whole thing still scares Steve. Just like he’d done last year, Steve grabs Bucky’s hand and takes the pin-holding pen out of his grasp.

“What the hell, Rogers? You gotta give me more warning that that! I was making such a nice ‘E’. I ain’t gonna finish spelling your name before dinner if you’re gonna inter—”

Once again, the first word that pops into Steve’s head is ‘intercom’, so he frantically spells that on Bucky’s hand, but this time, Bucky understands what that means. Well, partially. Immediately, he sits up from his slouch and slides the clipboard off his lap. “Help me inside. Hurry.”

Steve helps pull Bucky inside, moving them much faster than Bucky usually goes by himself. “Who is it, Steve? APS?”

“No, Buck. SHIELD.” Steve spells it on Bucky’s hand as soon as they’re by the table.

Bucky’s frown immediately turns into a look of annoyance. He rolls his eyes, but dutifully sits at the table and puts his hand on the table—assuming the normal position. “They were here a week ago! What the hell do these idiots think I did in a week? I guess me using a thumb tack to poke holes into a paper’s a threat to public safety, huh?”

Steve squeezes Bucky’s hand. He tells him that Cheng said they have strike teams on stand-by.

“Strike teams? More than one? What the hell are—”

He taps and rubs Bucky’s hand. He doesn’t know. “We gotta cooperate, Buck.”

“Yeah, yeah. Of course. We’ll get this straightened out. So they’re here to do harder testing?”

Steve’s fingers freeze. The temptation to lie is so strong…but he can’t. If there’s ever a time when Bucky’s eyes and ears need to report the unfiltered truth, it’s now. “No, they said they’re here to detain you. They said you violated the contract.”

“What?! Are they crazy? I never—”

Steve gives Bucky’s hand a hard jostle. “Focus, Buck. Remember: we gotta cooperate. Don’t do anything that’ll give them an excuse to hurt you.”

He can’t bring himself to spell out ‘shoot you’. He just—he can’t even think about something like that.

“Oh, I’ll be fine. You’re the one who’s gotta watch your temper, Rogers.”

Steve can’t respond because he hears pounding on the door, then Cheng’s voice carries through. “One minute, Rogers!”

“I’m coming!” He races to the door, flips the deadbolt, but then his hand freezes on the door knob. “Cheng, Barnes is at the table like he always is. He’s not moving and his hand’s in clear view. Don’t shoot!”

He hears some rustling, then Cheng’s voice carries through the door as he addresses his team. “Nobody puts their finger on any trigger until I give the signal. Clear?”

A chorus of ‘yes, sir’ drifts through the door.

“Okay, Rogers. We’re on the same page, but the other teams aren’t. 30 seconds.”

Steve opens the door and stands back as the black-clad security team sweeps in. They spread out like they usually do for the testing, taking different positions throughout the apartment.

Cheng hurries towards Bucky, waving for Steve to come. “Tell Barnes I gotta take him into custody.”

Steve swallows an annoyed sigh. “You ain’t taking—”

“Rogers, I gotta get him secured and then we can talk. But until he’s officially in my custody, the other teams will come in when the time’s up!”

Cheng sounds absolutely frantic, and that fear clutches Steve’s heart again. He nods, hurrying to Bucky’s side. “Okay.”

He dives for Bucky’s hand on the table and tells him Cheng has to put cuffs on him.

Bucky frowns, looking panicked and confused, but nods. “Okay. Major, go ahead and cuff me. I ain’t resisting. But please remember that I need Steve to spell on my hand if you want to talk to me.”

“I got it, I got it,” Cheng mutters. He grabs Bucky’s arm and pulls him up to a standing position. Bucky immediately raises his hand and keeps it held up. Cheng takes out a thick metal chain and a pair of hand cuffs, secures the chain around Bucky’s waist, then slaps the handcuffs over Bucky’s wrist and attaches the other, empty cuff to the chain so there’s enough give left that Bucky can move his hand a bit. It’s enough freedom to allow Steve to spell on his hand.

Then Cheng fumbles for his ear piece and activates it. “The target is secure. I repeat: The target is secure. Barnes is in custody. Everybody stand down. I repeat: stand down.”

Steve knows that Cheng didn’t quite finish the procedure of securing Bucky—Bucky’s feet would need to be chained together too—but Steve’s starting to understand that Cheng may be more on their side than he’s letting on.

Cheng glances at Steve. “You know the drill. Tell him I gotta do his feet.”

Steve brings Bucky’s hand to the table. He tells Bucky that his feet have to be secured.

Bucky nods. “Okay. Just nudge my feet if you want me to move them in any way, Major. Otherwise, I ain’t moving.”

“Yup.” Cheng bends down and cuffs Bucky’s feet together, leaving enough slack in the chains so Bucky can shuffle, but not enough to run.

It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s not like Bucky can run away from a SHIELD strike team or anybody else.

Cheng presses down on Bucky’s shoulder, letting him know he can sit back down. Cheng motions at Steve. “Rogers, sit down at the table. Keep your hands in clear view. You can spell on Barnes’ hand, but nothing else.” Then he looks at his team. “I don’t wanna see any fingers on any triggers until I signal, or you’re gonna be scrubbing toilets the rest of your lives.”

While Steve carefully sits down next to Bucky and squeezes his hand to let him know he’s there, the team lets out another chorus of ‘yes, sir’.

Bucky immediately feels for the leather bracelet around Steve’s wrist, but he doesn’t say anything. He looks calm, but Steve can tell he’s hiding how scared he is.

Staying focused on Bucky is helping Steve stay calm and push aside his own fear, so he mentally prepares himself for interpreting. “Okay, Barnes is secure. Now we wanna know what’s going on.”

To Steve’s surprise, Cheng looks at Bucky while answering and addresses him directly. It’s the correct way of talking to Bucky, but most people don’t know to do that and they speak directly to Steve. Steve knows it’s Cheng’s way of showing Bucky some respect in this stupid situation, which Steve appreciates. “SHIELD got intel that you’ve violated your contract. The consequence for violating the contract is detainment for an indeterminate length of time.” He glances at Steve’s fingers and waits until he’s finished interpreting before continuing. “We’re here to bring you back to SHIELD’s detainment facility, where you’ll be held for indefinite detainment.”

Steve is so busy interpreting that he doesn’t even let the words sink in. But he doesn’t need to, because Bucky’s handling things.

Bucky snorts. “Major, as you can see—I ain’t done nothing to get my hearing and sight back. You were here for the testing a week ago, and I promise that nothing’s happened since then, but you’re welcome to re-do the testing. Do harder testing if you want. It don’t matter to me. I can’t see or hear nothing.”

Cheng shakes his head. “You don’t get it, Barnes. They say that the intel they got is solid evidence that you’ve violated the contract. It’s done. The detainment isn’t negotiable. You know the contract doesn’t give you second chances.”

Bucky’s look of amused annoyance turns into a frown when he realizes how serious this is. Steve’s fingers stiffen as the fear starts to grab hold of him.

This can’t mean…they can’t actually…

No. No, that’s absurd.

They’ll get this straightened out, Bucky will re-do the testing and then Steve will make them bowls of ice cream sundaes and Bucky can finish his pinhole project. They’ll spend the evening playing with Maggie, who is never pleased when the black-clad strangers burst into her home. They’ll skip doing any official braille tactile exercises today, but Steve thinks Eric would be alright with that if he understood how stressful this day has become.

Bucky’s jaw is clenched. “I wanna know what this intel is, cause it’s baloney. I ain’t done nothing to get my sight or hearing back. Nothing. I ain’t gone to a doctor to ask about it, I ain’t booked any medical appointments, I ain’t asked Rogers to look stuff up, nothing.”

If this turns out to be another ‘nosy neighbor’ reporting them, Steve will pack them up and move to the middle of nowhere in Alaska. But first, he doesn’t care what Bucky says about it—Steve will find out who the tattle-tale is and make them feel just a little bit of the stress and fear that they’re making him and Bucky feel right now.

Steve’s preparing himself to hear things like ‘anonymous report’ and ‘seen at a doctor’s office’ or any such nonsense, but it’s none of those things.

“SHIELD knows that you’re learning braille. They know you can be triggered by reading the trigger words on paper, so learning to read braille is a violation of your contract.”

Steve is so dumbfounded by that statement that his fingers stop moving on Bucky’s palm. Bucky frowns. “Rogers, keep spelling. SHIELD knows what?”

 Forcing his fingers to finish spelling, Steve gapes at Cheng. The moment he’s done spelling, Bucky frowns. “What? Rogers, I’m gonna repeat what I think you spelled cause it’s baloney: SHIELD thinks that me learning braille is a violation of my contract?!”

To Steve’s utter confusion, Cheng nods, looking very serious. “Yeah. That’s what they said. That’s why the order was given to detain you and that’s why I gotta take you in.”

Steve blinks at Cheng. “You really think—”

“You’re all crazy! What the hell’s wrong with you? I can’t be triggered by reading braille!”

Cheng sighs. “We all know you can be triggered by reading the trigger words on paper. Braille writing’s on paper.”

Bucky looks incredulous at this stupidity. “Yeah, but…the trigger words have to be in _Russian_. And I don’t know how to read Russian braille. I ain’t ever learned Russian braille and I ain’t gonna, just like I ain’t ever gonna learn the Russian manual alphabet. I don’t even know if I can be triggered by reading Russian braille cause I’m pretty sure I was programmed to read the words visually and not tactilely, but that don’t matter. I ain’t ever gonna find out cause I ain’t gonna learn those things.”

Cheng shakes his head. “Listen to what I’m saying, Barnes: whether you can read Russian braille or not is irrelevant. They say that you’ve been actively learning braille, which means you’ve been actively trying to make yourself susceptible to getting triggered. You signed the contract, agreeing that you’d never do that, so they say you violated it.”

Wait a minute! Steve squeezes Bucky’s hand and tells him that’s not in the contract. Bucky seems to have come to the same realization.

“Major, I ain’t saying that I’m ever gonna learn Russian braille, but what you said ain’t what’s in the contract. I’m not allowed to do anything to get my hearing or sight back, that’s it. It don’t say nothing about me not being allowed to learn new communication methods.”

Cheng sighs. “You can keep arguing until you’re old and grey, Barnes. It doesn’t matter. My orders are to take you in. The simple truth is: I don’t have the authority to rescind that order. I have to take you in or SHIELD is gonna react as if you’re a hostile target who’s not cooperating, and you and I both know what that means.”

For the first time, Steve starts to feel really panicked. He can see that Bucky’s gone pale and his eyes have widened.

Jesus Christ.

_Jesus Christ!_

This is actually going to happen. They’re going to take Bucky and lock him away.

The shock numbs Steve, but thankfully Bucky isn’t frozen in fear.

Bucky’s breathing hard and his jaw is clenched. He’s white as a sheet. “I—I—you can’t…Major, please. I…” Bucky takes a deep breath and squeezes Steve’s hand hard before continuing, his voice shaking.

“Major, please be reasonable. _Please_. Why would I want to trigger myself? I’m not a violent, aggressive person! The only times I’ve been triggered is when other people do it to me. And because of my disabilities, that won’t work anymore. Nobody can force me to learn Russian braille or the Russian manual alphabet. And if they do, then I can turn my brain off when they’re giving me the words so I won’t be triggered. I would never…I don’t want to hurt anybody. Even if I have to choose between Steve’s life and the lives of innocent people, I wouldn’t hurt others. That’s why I did all this—” he chokes out, gesturing up towards is face. “—so nobody can trigger me ever again. I didn’t—I didn’t violate the contract.”

Cheng actually looks a bit upset. “I’m sorry, Barnes. I really am. But the order was given. If I don’t bring you in, they’ll send somebody else or they’ll change your status to a hostile target that needs to be eliminated.”

Steve is very grateful that he’s gotten much better at interpreting, because his fingers are moving and spelling while his brain is frozen in panic.

Bucky chews on his lip. He looks upset, but his jaw is clenched and he seems to be trying to stay positive. “Okay…so how long will I have to wait until I get a hearing?”

Cheng sighs softly. “You won’t get one. The contract doesn’t grant you that right. They decided you violated the contract, so you’re going to be detained indefinitely.”

Bucky blinks hard. “I…so that’s it? SHIELD decides me reading braille is too dangerous so they’re gonna lock me up? You’re gonna take me outta my home and lock me up for the rest of my life? I…you can’t…Major, please. _Please_. I haven’t done anything wrong. I—I haven’t done anything wrong.”

Fear is making it hard for Steve to breathe and he knows he’s moment away from bursting into tears. This can’t be happening.

_This can’t be happening._

Steve can see tears shimmering in Bucky’s eyes and he’s shaking. They tangle their fingers together and squeeze each other’s hands. Steve can’t tell which of them is shaking harder.

“Major, please, I’m begging you _—_ I’ll do any test they want, I stop learning braille and I’ll never learn any new communication method again. In fact, I even promise I won’t do the manual alphabet no more. I’ll just do yes or no questions with Steve from now on for the rest of my life. No more manual alphabet, no more braille, no more plastic letters, no more signs, nothing. I promise. I’ll sign a new contract. Just please, _please_ don’t take me away. _Please_.”

“Barnes, if there’s anything I or the rest of my team could do to help you, we would, but we can’t. I had to fight to be the one to take you in so I could give you the opportunity to understand what’s going on. They didn’t even wanna give you that chance. But they want you detained and it’s gonna happen today, right now. If not by me, then they’ll send in the teams they have waiting outside. You’re gonna go with SHIELD, Barnes. Today, dead or alive. There aren’t other options.”

Steve struggles to contain the urge to cry or run. He forces himself to interpret for Bucky.

He knows this is it. There aren’t other options.

Bucky is going to walk out that door and spend the rest of his life locked up in a cage—only this time, he won’t have his sight or hearing.

Well, if that’s reality, then that’s reality. Steve knows exactly what the next step is. “I’m going with him,” he says. He tells Bucky that he’s going with him.

Cheng and Bucky both frown and say “What?!” at the same time.

Steve clenches his jaw, knowing a fight is coming—from two fronts. “I ain’t letting him go alone. If he’s going, then I’m go—”

“Rogers, you’re crazy! Quit talking baloney. Help me figure out…Jesus, I’m gonna have to…Steve, please don’t let your stupid temper wreck things. This is gonna be the last time I’m ever gonna be with you as a free man. I ain’t—”

Steve jostles Bucky’s hand. “This ain’t my temper and I ain’t crazy. I’m going with you and that’s the end of it.”

Cheng stares at him. “Rogers, I can’t just take you with us. That’s not how things work.”

“Sure, you can. How the hell are you gonna talk to Bucky without me there?”

“We can find somebody else who knows that manual alphabet thing.”

Time for some small lies. Not big lies which can easily be uncovered, but small lies. The chances of SHIELD realizing that they’re using a communication method based on BSL fingerspelling is slim, so Steve will take that chance and turn it to his advantage. His silly mistake from all those months ago—teaching Bucky the wrong alphabet—will hopefully help keep him and Bucky together. “We made up our own manual alphabet and it’s way more complex than just an alphabet. It would take somebody weeks to learn how to communicate with Bucky. Besides, what’s the harm? You’re locking Bucky up because he’s a threat to others. If I decide to put myself at risk by staying with him, why does that matter to SHIELD? I ain’t an innocent bystander; I’m choosing to put myself at risk. I’ll sign whatever paper you want so SHIELD’s protected from being liable for my safety.”

Cheng stares at him. Steve takes the opportunity to write ‘please’ and ‘hush’ on Bucky’s palm.

But Bucky won’t hear of it. “No, Rogers, I ain’t gonna ‘hush’. You ain’t throwing your life away for me, you idiot. That ain’t happening! I ain’t gonna force you to come live in a cage with me!”

“You ain’t forcing me to do nothing. I’m deciding what I wanna do, and this is my choice.”

“Well, it’s a dumb choice. Major, ignore him.”

“No, Major, don’t ignore me. This is between you and me. Ignore Barnes.”

Cheng looks back and forth between them. He looks like he has no idea what to think, but then he decides to be practical about the whole thing. “Rogers, you know SHIELD won’t pay to house and feed and guard somebody who isn’t being officially detained. We don’t allow random homeless people to live in SHIELD cells, and they’re not gonna be keen on having you there. SHIELD isn’t a hotel.”

Steve snorts. “I’ve seen the cells, Cheng. Nobody would ever confuse them for hotel rooms. But that’s beside the point. I ain’t going as a separate prisoner. I’m Barnes’ eyes and ears. I’m his conduit through which you can communicate with him. I can stay in the same cell as him, share a bed with him, share clothes with him and share food with him. If we’re in the same cell, no extra monitoring needs to be done. I won’t be costing SHIELD any extra money or resources. I’ll just be using up oxygen, which was free last time I checked.”

Cheng stares at him. “You’re nuts, Rogers. I know this is all coming out of left field, but you aren’t thinking straight.”

“I’m thinking more clearly about this whole thing than SHIELD is. If—”

“Steve? You better not be talking about this nonsense still. I’m telling you, I ain’t gonna let—”

Steve grabs Bucky’s hand. At the last second, he remembers the cuffs and doesn’t yank Bucky’s hand close to him like he usually does when they’re arguing. He spells rapidly on Bucky’s hand but doesn’t verbalize what he’s spelling.

He reminds Bucky that they had decided to respect each other more, didn’t they? That they would allow the other to make decisions, even if they didn’t always agree with those decisions.

Bucky flips their hands around. He acknowledges, that yes—they did agree to do that, but that doesn’t apply to—

Tap, tap, tap. Yes, it does. Steve isn’t going to let Bucky suffer alone in the darkness and silence, and Bucky can’t let Steve suffer by taking away the most important part of his life.

End. Of. The. Line.

That’s what ma made them promise, isn’t it?

Bucky remarks that this probably isn’t what she’d meant when—

Steve flips their hands around, interrupting Bucky’s spelling. He tells him he doesn’t care. He isn’t going to live without Bucky. He’s tried that and it made him miserable. Even living in a cage will be bearable if he’s got Bucky by his side.

Then Steve pulls his hand away from Bucky. “There’s no good reason to not let me go with him.”

Cheng stares at him. “You realize what ‘indeterminate period of time’ and ‘indefinitely’ mean, right? They’re gonna lock that door and neither of you will ever come back out. You both could live another ninety years.”

Steve shrugs. He’s spent nearly thirty years with Bucky Barnes already; spending another ninety is a privilege. He also knows what it’s like to live with Bucky when they barely had anything, so going back to living in meager surroundings with little access to food and other resources won’t be strange. The lack of liberty will take some getting used to, but if Steve has to choose between being out in the sun and being with Bucky, that’s no choice. He doesn’t even have to consider it.

Bucky’s groping around the table, trying to find Steve’s hand. “Rogers, I wasn’t done talking about this.”

Steve ignores him, hides his hand on his lap and stares at Cheng. Cheng stares back at him. Finally, Cheng lets out a sigh. “Alright. Well,  I hope the two of you won’t get sick of each other because you’ll be stuck together for the rest of your lives.”

Steve doesn’t tell him that that’s all he’s ever wanted since he was seven years old.

Tapping on his ear piece, Cheng informs control that he’s going to be bringing Barnes’ ‘interpreter’ with him. Cheng listens for a while to whatever response he’s getting. Then:

“I understand, sir. The interpreter won’t be requiring additional resources, and Barnes doesn’t know any communication method that other interpreters would know.”

That reminds Steve to tell Bucky about their new little lie. He discreetly tells Bucky to make sure he sticks to the lie that he can’t understand any communication method except their highly customized version of fingerspelling. No ASL fingerspelling, no printed capital letters, no plastic letters. They need to stick to the story that Steve is Bucky’s only access to hearing and seeing information.

Bucky doesn’t look happy about it, but he gives a nod.

Cheng is still talking to his superior. “Yes, sir. Completely deaf and completely blind. The test last week confirmed it….Yes…Yes, that’s right. Without an interpreter, Barnes can’t understand anything that’s going on. And the interpreter needs to help him with almost all of his daily needs. If you hand him food, the guards will have to help him eat unless the interpreter’s there to help him….Yes, sir, that’s the role of an interpreter, yes.”

Having Bucky’s abilities being downplayed like this makes Steve’s clench his jaw with distaste, but he’ll tell and accept any lie necessary to keep him and Bucky together.

Finally, Cheng gets a small smile on his face. “Okay, I’ll bring them in. Barnes moves very slowly so we’ll need some extra time. We’ll be out within 15 minutes.”

Turning his ear piece off, Cheng looks at Steve. “Okay, Rogers, you got your wish. I think it’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard, but they’ll let you go with Barnes. One cell, one bed, one set of supplies, one set of food.”

That’s how he and Bucky have lived most of their lives. Steve knows they’ll be fine.

Cheng waves a hand at him. “Alright, get ready to go. We’re leaving in 15 minutes and you won’t be coming back.”

That…makes Steve’s thoughts grind to a halt.

While he knows he and Bucky are fine living with limited resources and in cramped quarters…a part of him still thought that they’ll go away for a few days and then be released.

But they won’t be.

They’re going to be locked up permanently. SHIELD’s detention facility isn’t legally supposed to hold people for lengthy periods of time, so there’s no exercise yard. Detainees are kept locked up 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year.

Fear starts to crawl up Steve’s throat again, but he’s pulled out of those thoughts by Bucky shifting his hand, making the handcuffs scrape over the table. “Steve? What’s going on?”

It takes him three tries to start spelling properly.

‘We’re leaving,’ he spells out. ’15 minutes.’

Bucky looks devastated. “Steve, what—what about Maggie? We can’t just…she—who’s gonna take care of her?”

That’s when Steve realizes the extent of this situation.

They’re going to be leaving their apartment—their home, their lives—in 15 minutes and they won’t ever be back.

Bucky looks very close to tears. “She—who’s gonna give her vegetables? She’s gonna need her vegetables in two hours. She needs—who’s gonna feed her and clean her cage? You know she won’t drink any water if any food get in the water bowl. And who’s gonna play with her? Nobody else knows the pillow game with the building bricks.”

Steve grabs Bucky’s hand and squeezes it hard. There’s absolutely nothing he can say to make this better. He stares at Cheng. “Let Bucky say goodbye to Maggie. Please.”

Cheng stares back and forth between them. Bucky’s shaking and tears have started rolling down his face and he’s clutching Steve’s hand so hard that it’s on the verge of being painful.

“Please,” Steve whispers, staring at Cheng imploringly.

Finally, Cheng nods. “Okay. Tell him he gets a few minutes with her.”

Steve gently pulls his hand out of Bucky’s grasp and tells him he can say goodbye to Maggie. Bucky’s clenching his jaw too hard to speak, but he struggles out of his chair immediately.

Helping Bucky over to Maggie’s cage, Steve realizes that Bucky’s cuffs won’t allow him to reach into Maggie’s cage. He glances at Cheng. “Can you please take off the cuffs? He’ll put them back on right after he’s done with Maggie.”

Cheng has an unreadable look on his face. He gets up and comes towards them and Steve quickly tells Bucky that Cheng will remove the handcuffs temporarily.

Bucky swallows hard and struggles to speak through a throat full of tears. “T-thank you, Major,” he mumbles, the words barely intelligible.

Cheng undoes the cuff from Bucky’s wrist and then goes back to the table.

Bucky carefully opens Maggie’s cage door and explores the mat surfaces, looking for her. “Hey, Mags,” he whispers. “Where are you, darling? Come say hello.”

When Bucky finds her in a corner, he gently pets her belly, but Maggie doesn’t seem inclined to step up on Bucky’s fingers. “You don’t wanna come out, do you, darling? You don’t like the strange people in the apartment, huh? I know. I know you’re scared, but it’s gonna be okay.”

He gently scratches the side of her face and Maggie tilts her head slightly, keeping a careful eye on the strange people in the apartment.

“That’s a good girl, Maggie. What a good girl you are. I—I gotta go away. Me and Steve both. But we’ll find somebody to look after you, okay? I don’t promise that they’ll love you as much I do, cause that ain’t possible. But we’ll find somebody, I promise. They might not know the pillow game, but you can help them make new games, okay?”

That’s when Bucky stops being able to speak because he’s crying too hard, tears streaming down his face. Steve moves his hand to comfort Bucky, but Cheng says: “Rogers, hands,” and Steve pulls back at the last second.

Steve’s heart is aching for Bucky and he’s on the verge of tears too, but Bucky’s words bring him back to reality.

He has to find somebody to take care of Maggie. And what about their apartment? And their bills? And their therapy appointments? And his job?

Shit.

Steve glances at Cheng. “I—I have to make phone calls.”

Cheng snorts. “Yeah, no kidding. Where’s your phone?”

Steve nods at his desk and Cheng gets up and brings him his phone. “Put it on speaker and hold it out. I gotta see your hands at all times.”

Nodding, Steve stares at his phone, feeling completely overwhelmed. Bucky sobs next to him, petting Maggie and everybody else is staring at Steve.

His mind is racing. How the hell is he supposed to close up their entire lives within 15 minutes?!

His first thought is to call Natasha, but she’s on a mission. His only other option is Sam. He dials Sam’s number, puts the phone on speaker and holds it on his open palm.

“Hello?”

“Sam? It’s—”

“Hey, buddy! Listen, now’s not a good time. I’m in the middle—”

“Sam, this is an emergency. I’m so sorry, but it’s an actual emergency.”

Immediately, Sam is all a business. “Give me a sec.” Steve hears muffled noises, then Sam’s back on the line. “Okay, go.”

“Buck and I are being detained by SHIELD. Well, Buck is, but I’m going with him.”

“How long?”

“Permanently.”

“ _What?!_ ”

“It’s—it’s a long story but I only have a few minutes. SHIELD says Buck violated the contract by learning braille. Anyway, they’re taking us both. We’re leaving in a few minutes. Sam, I need help. There’s—I need help with things.”

“We’ll get you outta there, Steve. Don’t worry. Nat and—”

“You’re on speaker, Sam. Just—please listen. Do you have paper handy to write on?”

“Yeah. Go.”

“Somebody needs to look after Maggie. I don’t know—I have no idea who can help with that, but she’ll die if she’s left here on her own.”

Sam sighs softly. “I can fly over and be there tonight. But I can’t—buddy, I’m so sorry, but I can’t go live in your apartment. I—I can bring Maggie back to Washington with me?”

Steve clenches his eyes closed. So much turmoil might kill Maggie. Damn SHIELD!

He opens his mouth to ask Sam to find a different option—maybe call the shelter and ask if the staff can look after Maggie?—when Cheng interrupts from where he’s sitting at the desk.

“I’ll look after the bird, Rogers. Focus on other things.”

Steve stares at Cheng, who makes a ‘hurry up’ gesture with his hands. “We’ve got less than 10 minutes left. Focus, Rogers.”

“Okay. Sam, don’t worry about Maggie. But I gotta—can you call my work? Can you tell them I had to quit suddenly? Here, let me—”

He quickly scrolls through his contacts and reels off his boss’ phone number to Sam.

“Got it.”

“Tell him—tell him the Fulton project is done, it’s just waiting for drafting to be done. Everything’s on the server.”

“Okay. What about your bills?”

Steve snorts. It’s an appropriately ugly sound. “We ain’t gonna be back, Sam. I don’t know and I don’t care what’s gonna happen with our stuff. Let SHIELD deal with it. Or the city. Forget about all that. The other important thing is: please call Dr. Leon Powell. He’s our therapist. Can you cancel Buck and my sessions and tell him we’re real sorry?”

“How vague do you want me to keep things?”

“You can be honest. He knows everything anyway. Let me just find—” he scrolls through his phone and finds Leon’s number for Sam.

“Okay. Anybody else?”

Steve’s mind is reeling. He realizes there are so many friends they’ve made since Bucky has come home. The list is too big to ask Sam to contact each of them in person, so they’ll never know what happened to him or Bucky.

Niloufar from the restaurant. Taj and Lisa at the pool. Eric and Cecilia at HKNC. Frank Garland from Garland’s Groceries.

His heart aches when he realizes all of them will probably just think they moved away and didn’t think their relationship was important enough to say goodbye in person. He debates asking Sam to call the places where each person works to deliver a message, but that would be a huge inconvenience to Sam, who’s always done way too much for him anyway.

“No, that’s—that’s it. Oh! Sam, can you get a hold of Nat at some point? And one more thing: I know what you’re thinking, but I want you to stop those thoughts. I don’t want you getting yourself or your family into trouble over me and Buck, okay? Don’t do that. I couldn’t live with myself if you end up in a cell next to us.”

“Steve, I can’t just—”

“Sam, please. If this is how it ends, then that’s how it ends. I won’t—you can see what they’ve done to Buck and what they’re doing to him now. Don’t get involved in this fight, Sam. Please.”

Steve knows if there’s even a tiny hope of them ever being released again, it’ll be due to Natasha’s involvement. He also knows that she’d want him and Bucky to be cooperative while she works on things, and that means anybody else getting involved could mess things up.

He doubts even Natasha will be able to fix this mess, but he knows he definitely doesn’t want Sam’s life ruined because of it. Having SHIELD ruin his and Bucky’s lives is bad enough.

“Steve—”

“Please, Sam. You can ask if they’ll let us have visitors, but don’t fight them if they won’t. I’m gonna need to stay focused and strong to help Buck, and I can’t do that if I’m upset that I pulled you into this mess.”

Sam sighs heavily. “Okay. Okay, I’ll mind my manners. So that’s all you need? Two phone calls?”

“Yeah. I—I gotta go. There’s still stuff I have to do here. Sam, thank you. I mean it. Not just for this, but for everything.”

“Jesus. Don’t thank me. I—I’m in your corner for life, buddy. You know that, right?”

“I know. But you gotta sit this one out.”

“Yeah. But you better believe I’m gonna try to get them to let me send you guys letters.”

That brings a smile to Steve’s face and his heart glows at how much Sam means to him. He just hates that his stupid life has always negatively impacted their relationship. “That—that’ll be real nice. I don’t know if they’ll let you do that, but that’ll be real nice.”

Before Steve can burst into tears, he bids Sam goodbye and hangs up the phone. Then he’s back to business, looking around their apartment.

Bucky’s still quietly murmuring to Maggie, sobbing inconsolably. Steve knows it’s up to him to keep things moving if they don’t want to be taken in by force. He realizes that SHIELD doesn’t know the identity of Bucky’s ‘interpreter’ yet, and once they do, they may no longer feel inclined to let them stay together. Steve doesn’t want to give them any reason to separate them. He’s going to stay so cooperative and polite that his ma’s gonna think he’s been replaced by an alien.

“Cheng, I need time to pack some things.”

Cheng shakes his head. “Don’t bring anything with you, Rogers. It’ll get confiscated.”

“Okay, then let me grab Buck’s cane and—”

“No. They’ll confiscate it.”

As usual, that gets Steve’s temper going. “He needs his cane to walk!”

“He’s got two legs and he’s got you. That’s all he needs to walk the short distances he needs to go. I’m telling you: they’ll take his cane away as soon as you step foot through the front door of the facility. What’s the point of that?”

“So they’re gonna take everything?”

“You know procedure, Rogers. Just cause you used to work for SHIELD doesn’t mean the rules won’t apply to you. They’ll take everything off you: clothes, jewelry, watches, and because you’re not getting back out, you won’t be getting that stuff back. Leave anything you don’t wanna gift to the SHIELD ‘free-for-all’ bin.”

That makes Steve stare down at the leather bracelets on his wrists. With a sickening lurch, he realizes he’ll have to take them off and leave them here. But Cheng’s right—Steve would rather leave his important possessions here and have the city take everything than give his precious belongings to SHIELD.

Slowly, Steve takes off the bracelets and drops them on his work desk. Looking at his naked wrists makes this feel even more real.

He’s going to spend the rest of his life in a jail cell. No more sunshine, no more riding the train, no more watching baseball, no more Christmas tree decorating.

One of the thoughts that really gets stuck in his head is that he and Bucky never had the chance to visit Coney Island again. And now they never will.

Realizing he’s getting upset again, he shakes his head firmly. Focus, Rogers. Focus. There will be time for grieving later. For now, he has to focus on closing up their lives and making sure everything’s taken care of.

He glances at Maggie and Bucky, and then looks at Cheng. “You said you’ll take care of Maggie?”

Cheng nods.

“Do you know how to take care of cockatiels?”

“Yup. I’ve got two of my own.”

“Maggie hates other birds. She’s twelve years old and she’s missing her foot and she’s blind in one eye.” Steve quickly rattles off Maggie’s other disabilities, points out the pillow that’s sitting on top of the cage and explains her feeding schedule.

Cheng’s listening and nodding. “And what’s the ‘pillow game’?”

Steve points at Bucky’s boxes of building blocks on the floor. “Maggie likes throwing the blocks off her pillow. You put a handful on there and she’ll throw them off and then you put them back on. She don’t like to play a lot and she’s not real affectionate, so playing the games that she likes is real important for her.”

“Okay, got it.”

Steve stares at him. “Seriously? You’re gonna take care of Maggie?”

Cheng nods. “Yup. It’s not a big deal, Rogers.”

Steve glares at him. “Maggie is a really damn big deal!” The black-clad members of Cheng’s team rustle as they adjust their positions at Steve’s outburst.

The Major holds up a soothing hand and looks at Steve. “I know. That’s not what I meant. I’ll take good care of her, I promise. Gimme your key. I’ll come back and get her after I drop you guys off.”

Steve points at the door. “Keys are hanging by the door.”

“Okay. You ready to go?”

What a question. Are he and Bucky ready to leave their lives and their freedom behind? Nobody could ever be truly ready for something like that.

Steve nods and doesn’t allow himself to get emotional again. “Yeah. Just let me tell Buck we’re going.”

“Rogers, you realize you can still change your mind, right? You don’t have to come. SHIELD doesn’t want you, they just want Barnes.”

Steve shakes his head. “We’re a package deal, Major. I ain’t letting Buck get locked up without me. I’ve done that too many times already and things never worked out well for either of us.”

What he doesn’t say is that Bucky is the most important thing in his world. If he has to choose between sunshine, baseball, freedom, or being with Bucky—he’ll choose Bucky each and every time. The two most important people in his life have always been his ma and Bucky. This way, he’ll get to stay with both of them for the rest of his life.

As for Bucky, he knows he feels the same way, not to mention that Bucky’s quality of life would be horrendous if he didn’t have Steve there and he won’t condemn Bucky to such a life.

They both deserve so much better than this, but…

Wanting things and getting things are two different things.

There’s that small flicker of hope that Natasha will find a way to help them, but Steve refuses to let himself dwell on that too much. Natasha may have a lot of tricks up her sleeve, but even she may not be able to get them out of this mess—especially if her only option is to break him and Bucky out and force them to go on the run. She knows that’s not an option for Bucky.

So unless she finds a legal way to get them out, it won’t happen. And SHIELD has never cared much about legalities.

Steve knows there’s a big chance that this will be it. That once that cell door slams shut behind them, it won’t ever open again. But they’ll make it work. He knows they will.

He gently squeezes Bucky’s arm. Bucky squeezes his eyes closed. “It’s time?” he whispers.

Steve taps his arm. He stares into the cage where Bucky’s still gently petting Maggie. Steve and Maggie have never been best friends, but he knows losing her will be hard on Bucky. And she deserves to have a good life after everything she’s been through.

Well—they all do. But none of this is Maggie’s fault. Technically, it’s not Bucky or Steve’s faults either, but Maggie truly has nothing to do with any of it. She’s just an innocent bystander getting swept up the cloud of bad luck that’s been haunting Bucky Barnes for unknown reasons since he got that letter from the draft board.

“Did you find somebody take care of Maggie?”

Steve taps his arm. He knows Bucky isn’t asking open-ended questions because he wants to keep his hand in the cage with Maggie as long as possible, and Steve can answer yes-no questions without needing access to Bucky’s hand.

But when he sees Cheng checking his watch, Steve knows it’s time for them to go. Very gently, he tugs on Bucky’s arm. That makes Bucky’s face crumble again and he cries harder.

“I’m sorry, Mags. I gotta go, darling. I’m so sorry,” he mumbles through his tears.

Steve’s heart aches and he blinks hard to keep his own tears at bay. He has to stay focused, especially because Bucky’s way too emotionally compromised to focus. Bucky hasn’t continued arguing over Steve going with him, he hasn’t asked about their apartment or their belongings or any other part of their lives, and he’s probably completely forgotten about the armed security team in their apartment and the strike teams waiting down the block. He’s gotten stuck on the idea of having to leave Maggie and hasn’t begun to process any other part of this yet.

Steve sees Cheng reach up to his ear piece. “Yes, sir. We’re on our way. I told you: Barnes moves really slowly…Well, you try being deaf and blind, sir and then moving at a normal pace…No, sir, I apologize. We’ll be out in a few minutes. Barnes and his interpreter are fully cooperating so there’s no need for anyone to be on high alert.”

When Cheng’s done talking he raises his eyebrows at Steve. He’s stalled as long as he can and it’s now time to go.

Steve gives him an imploring look. “You swear you’ll take care of Maggie properly?”

Cheng nods. “I will, I promise.”

It occurs to him that he should ask why Cheng is willing to do this. He’s not agreeing to look after Maggie for a  few days—he’ll be looking after her for the rest of her life, however long that’ll be.

“I—Cheng—Major, thank you. That means a lot. Do you want me to pay you? I’ve got—”

Cheng waves a hand. “Forget it, Rogers. I’m not doing this for either of you. The bird’s an innocent in all this and I’ve already got two of ‘em. It’s not a big deal to take on a third one. Now, focus. Unless you want things getting ugly, we gotta go.”

Steve stares at him for another second until Cheng gives him an impatient wave. That propels Steve into action. He turns to Bucky and gently—but insistently—tugs on his sleeve. “Come on, Buck. We gotta go. They’re gonna get upset if we don’t come out now.”

Bucky lets out a small noise of pain and pulls his hand out of the cage and gently latches the door shut. “I—I—n—my—kay.”

Frowning, Steve draws a question mark on Bucky’s hand. “Say it again, buddy. I didn’t understand that.”

Bucky swallows hard and draws in a shaky breath. “I need my cane.”

Steve clenches his jaw, squeezes Bucky’s hand and gently rubs it.

That makes Bucky’s face fall again. “They won’t even let me keep my cane?”

Turning Bucky’s hand over Steve tells him he’ll be Bucky’s cane. They’ll be fine.

“O-okay. Let’s go, I guess.”

Steve carefully helps guide him through the apartment, moving slowly so Bucky can keep up despite his feet being chained together. Steve’s trying not to look at all of their belongings as he goes. The reminders of what they’re leaving behind are all around them.

Bucky’s art projects on the wall. The galloping horse picture hanging in the ‘best spot in the art gallery’. Their shelves filled with their games and the whiteboards they used for baseball watching and learning. A blanket Bucky had knit is draped over the couch where they’d spent so many joyful hours watching television together or working on orders from Bucky’s store: Bucky knitting on his loom and Steve replying to orders on his laptop.

They pass the open door to the bedroom with the neat line of pillows lining the wall on Bucky’s side of the bed. The kitchen has the sticky dots on the microwave;, recipes and their current shopping list are pinned to the icebox waiting for their next trip to Garland’s Groceries, and the drying rack is full of the dishes from lunch, which Bucky had carefully washed and stacked.

And when they reach the door, there’s Bucky’s cane, hanging by their jackets, Bucky’s baseball caps and his sunglasses, all ready for their next adventure outside.

Well, this is an adventure the cane won’t be joining them on.

It suddenly hits Steve that they’ve built a very good life here. Despite Bucky’s disabilities and their ignorance about the 21st century, they’ve been slowly figuring things out. There’s so many things they hadn’t had the chance to do and so many things Steve wishes Bucky had the chance to still learn.

And now that’s all over.

That’s when the anger comes. It floods through him so quickly that his breath catches. But as soon as it comes, he forces it down.

He needs to stay focused. Bucky is still crying and not tracking where he’s going. He’s making no efforts to put on his own shoes or jacket, so Steve needs to stay focused for both of their sakes.

Pushing all other thoughts out of his mind, Steve gently leans Bucky against the wall, helps him put on his shoes, takes the motion sensor band off his leg and tugs his jacket over him. While he’s helping button up Bucky’s jacket, he sees the chain from Bucky’s watch peeking out from beneath his shirt.

Steve takes Bucky’s hand, squeezes it gently and tells him he has to leave his watch here.

Bucky sighs, but instead of arguing—like Steve thought he would—he numbly mumbles “Okay”, pulls the watch chain over his head and waits for Steve to take it. Steve can tell Bucky’s not focused on what’s going on at all, his mind probably still on Maggie.

Steve does a quick check, making sure they’re not wearing anything other than their clothes and shoes. Then they’re ready. He gently tells Bucky they’re going to go. He steps into his own shoes, pulls on his jacket and looks at Cheng.

“We’re ready.”

“You aren’t wearing anything that you don’t mind donating to SHIELD?”

Steve shakes his head. His wallet, phone and leather bracelets are still on his desk and the keys are hanging by the door. The things that are of most value to him are things SHIELD won’t be able to take from him.

“Okay, I gotta put the cuffs back on Barnes.”

Right. Steve had forgotten about that. He squeezes Bucky’s hand and tells him they have to re-cuff him.

“Oh. Okay,” Bucky mumbles. He sounds like he has no idea what Steve had just said. His mind is still on the little bird, who’s carefully watching what’s going on in the apartment, waiting for the strange people to leave and for her favourite person to play with her.

She doesn’t understand that her favourite person will never play with her again.

The anger comes back again, but Steve squeezes his eyes shut and forces it down.

Cheng comes over and puts the handcuff back onto Bucky’s wrist and tightens the other chains. “Rogers, let Barnes hold onto your arm and move at a slow but steady pace. Tell me before you have to stop Barnes for something. There are a lot of guns out there and they don’t listen to me the same way the guns in here do.”

“Got it. Cheng, you promise to come back for Maggie?”

“I gave you my word, Rogers and I’m gonna keep it, don’t worry. I’ll come back right after I drop you guys off.” Cheng opens their door, grabs the keys hanging by the door and gives his team a nod. “Let’s move out.”


	86. Chapter 86

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the amazing response to the last chapter! I hope you enjoy this journey we’re about to embark on!

Bucky’s glad that Steve’s taking control of the entire situation, because he has no idea where he is or what’s going on, and he really doesn’t care.

His heart is breaking for hurting poor Maggie like this and he can’t focus on anything else.

She deserves so much better than this!

Bucky had made her a promise that he’d take care of her for the rest of her life, and now he has to break that promise. He’s made that same promise and broken it with Steve, his ma and his sisters, and he’d ended up having to abandon each of them.

True, abandoning them was never his choice, but it still happened. Sure, he came back to Steve, but Steve suffered so much during the time when they were separated. And now, after everything he’s done to try to guarantee that he won’t ever have to abandon a loved one who depends on him ever again—he _does_ have to do it again.

At least Steve, his ma and sisters all thought he’d been killed during the war. They had understood why he’d left them. They’d understood that it hadn’t been Bucky’s choice. But Maggie doesn’t know that and that’s what’s tearing Bucky’s heart into pieces. She probably won’t realize what’s going on until a few hours from now.

She’ll be waiting, waiting and waiting for Bucky to come home to give her vegetables and a little treat. Days when SHIELD morons come into their home are always days that end with ice cream sundaes for Steve and Bucky and some spray millet for Maggie. They’re also days that end with lots of cuddles, a few stories and some play-time—if Maggie’s in the mood.

Bucky knows what she’s doing right now. She’s in her cage, staring at the door and waiting, waiting, waiting for Bucky to come home.

Whoever Steve hired to take care of her will feed her and clean her cage, but they don’t know how Maggie likes things to be done. They don’t know how to pet her, what games she likes to play or what kind of stories she likes.

He feels Steve squeezing his hand and telling him they’ve arrived. He really can’t remember where they’re going. He’d climbed down the stairs at their apartment and then gotten into a hackie to go…somewhere.

But he doesn’t remember where they’d planned on going. And why would he be upset over leaving Maggie behind forever if they’re just going somewhere for an afternoon…?

His brain isn’t working right. “Where are we, Steve?”

Steve tells him they’re at SHIELD’s detention facility.

Oh.

Oh!

A shiver of fear runs down Bucky’s spine as everything comes rushing back. He’s completely forgotten about this! His mind’s been so focused on Maggie that he’s forgotten why he had to leave her. He realizes with a sickening lurch that he’ll have to say goodbye to Steve soon too. That’s…that’s…he doesn’t know if he’ll survive that.

“How long will they let you stay?” Bucky asks.

Steve squeezes his hand. He tells Bucky that he’s staying with him permanently. He’s not going anywhere.

Oh, that’s good.

Wait! No, that’s not good.

It all comes flooding back to him and he remembers telling the punk that’s not an option. It’s not even in the realm of ideas that should be entertained. “Rogers, we’ve been over this. You ain’t staying in a cell with me for the rest of your life. Don’t be dumb!” He feels Steve jostling his hand and trying to spell, but Bucky grabs his fingers and doesn’t let him talk. This punk’s the dumbest person he’s met in his life! “I gotta stay locked up and that’s bad enough, but I ain’t—”

That’s when Steve rips his fingers out of Bucky’s grasp and slaps his hand over Bucky’s mouth. Using his other hand—which is against their rules—Steve flattens his hand and tells him they’re here and they have to get out of the car. There are guns. Lots of guns.

Oh, shit.

Bucky actually doesn’t care if they decide to shoot him—his life is ending today anyway—but he won’t let them do it in front of Steve, and the idiotic punk would probably end up getting himself shot too. And that means Steve won’t be able to go home where he’ll stay safe and be able to take care of Maggie.

So Bucky allows Steve to help him struggle out of the car—being chained up and only having one arm and no sight really doesn’t make it easy—and then Steve is guiding him somewhere. Bucky pays attention to the signals Steve gives him. He stops when he’s told to stop and he turns when he’s told to turn.

Then Steve tells him they’re going to be stripped, searched and given new clothes to wear. Bucky needs to pay attention.

“Okay, I got it. Sir? Just tap and nudge my arm or legs if you want me to move ‘em. Otherwise, I won’t move.”

He braces himself to feel strange hands on him, and then he’s got multiple hands on him. The cuffs are taken off his hand and feet and the chain is taken off his waist. When his arm is lifted up, he keeps it where it’s put, and when a foot kicks at his ankles, he slides his legs apart. The hands pat him down, then somebody grabs his jacket and tugs on it.

Bucky waits, trying to see if they’ll remove his clothes or if they want him to do it. When the hand yanks on his jacket again, but makes no move to undo the buttons, Bucky carefully moves his hand to the button.

“Okay, I’m gonna take off my jacket. Grab my hand if you don’t want me doing that.”

All hands leave him, so Bucky takes that as his cue. He carefully unbuttons his jacket and pulls it off himself. As soon he’s got it in his hand, it’s taken from him and disappears. It makes him sad to lose his jacket.

Steve had sewn on the buttons so Bucky doesn’t have to struggle with the zipper, and he’d also cut off the left sleeve and nicely sewn up. Steve’s love for him could be felt in every part of that jacket—and now he’ll never get to wear it again.

A hand yanks on his shirt, pulling him out of his sullen thoughts. He struggles out of his shirt, then his shoes, pants, socks and underwear. Then he feels a bundle of stiff, starchy clothes being shoved into his arm.

“Uh…I’m sorry, but it’s gonna take me a while to get dressed. Or somebody’s gotta help me. I can’t do it real fast with just one arm. Sorry, sir.”

Dropping the bundle of clothes on the floor, he slowly bends down and rummages through the pile, trying to identify what’s what. He’s focused on how many guns are trained on him, whether he’s going to fall over, and whether he’s going to accidentally pull the pants on as a shirt, and he’s not focusing enough on actually getting dressed. And that’s not good.

He knows he’s going to start panicking soon—and then there’s a hand touching his arm. A shiver of fear runs down his back and he immediately shrinks back from the unexpected touch. The hand doesn’t let him get too far. It follows his arm, slides down to his hand and squeezes it.

Bucky has no idea what that means or what the person is trying to say. Out of habit, he feels for the leather bracelet, hoping that maybe—

But there isn’t one. Damn.

“Uh, sir? Will you help me get dressed?”

The hand does a little spasm, then it squeezes again, and the fingers are rapidly flying over his palm, spelling.

Relief floods through him. He really wasn’t looking forward to a stranger helping him get dressed. “Steve, slow—slow down, please. I didn’t think it was you so I wasn’t tracking. Can you help me get dressed?”

Tap, tap.

Steve helps pull the shirt over his head and then puts Bucky’s hand on his shoulder to keep him balanced as Steve bends down to help him pull on his underwear and socks. As Bucky patiently waits for Steve’s taps on his legs to lift first one, then the other leg, he feels the stiff fabric of Steve’s shirt.

It feels exactly the same as the bundle of clothes that he’s pulling on, and it feels nothing like Steve’s normal shirt. Damn it, the punk actually got changed into the prison clothes.

“Rogers, I don’t know why you bothered getting changed. You ain’t staying. That ain’t negotiable. You can help me go to my cell, but that’s it. Then you’re going home.”

His only response is a nudge against his left foot, which he dutifully lifts and then the pants are being pulled over his foot and up his leg.

Oh, this stubborn punk. But his stubbornness doesn’t matter. Bucky will physically shove him out of the cell if he tries barging in, and once the door’s shut, guards will eventually drag Steve away and kick him out the front door.

Bucky allows himself to stay focused on his annoyance as Steve finishes helping him get dressed  and slide his feet into hard rubber slippers. Then the restraints are put back on him and they head down a hallway, presumably to the cells.

He forces himself to pay attention to Steve’s guiding signals and refuses to focus on the idea that soon he’ll have to say goodbye to Steve forever. It won’t even be a decent goodbye because the punk will be fighting and arguing with him. But there aren’t other options. Steve can’t spend the rest of his life in a prison cell just because the universe seems to hate Bucky.

When Steve signals for him to stop and gets him to turn, Bucky knows they’re probably here. His new permanent home. There are hands on him and the restraints are being removed again.

He realizes he’s very glad he decided to spend the morning on the balcony. He’ll have the memory of the sunshine on his face and the breeze brushing over his skin for a few months, maybe a few years until he forgets what those feel like.

Then he gives himself a mental shake. He needs to focus.

Steve tells him there’s a door frame that he has to step over and Bucky carefully enters the cell, keeping his hand out in front of him so he doesn’t bump into anything. He hates being in a new space without his cane, but he assumes the cell is small enough that he’ll get his bearings soon enough.

Alright, time to get Rogers out of here. “Okay, Rogers. I’m in my cell and I’ll figure things out. You can go now.”

Predictably, the punk brushes past him to step into the cell. Bucky grabs his passing sleeve and yanks on it. “Rogers, I’m serious. Get out of here. I don’t want you in here.”

Bucky feels Steve shake off his grip and then the punk walks away from him, moving further into the cell. Damn it. Turning around to face the door, Bucky decides to get additional help. “Guards? I don’t want Rogers sharing my cell. He’s not a prisoner so I want him out of here.”

He waits, fully expecting guards to push him aside as they come in to drag Steve out. Bucky can’t believe the punk is being so stubborn that this will be how their last meeting will go, but Rogers made his choice.

But nobody brushes past him. He waits a few seconds, then decides to try again. “Guards? Please remove Rogers from my cell and send him home.”

Nothing happens.

Bucky puts a polite smile on his face and steps closer to the door. He’s about to ask again, but then he smells a metallic, electric scent that’s strangely familiar. When he lifts his hand to guide his way, he feels a sudden zap of electricity.

With a surprised yelp, he yanks his hand back. Damn it! They turned the force field on, which means the cell door is already closed.

Sighing with irritation, Bucky turns around. He has no idea where anything is and he doesn’t want to distract himself by tripping over things, so he stays where he is. “Rogers, I was serious. I want you out of here. Tell ‘em you changed your mind. I’ll figure things out, you know I will. The cell ain’t that big and prison life ain’t complicated.” He puts a brave smile on his face, while his stomach is clenching with pent-up fear and despair. “I’ll be fine, I promise.”

He waits, hoping that Steve will come to him, but nothing happens.

Everybody’s ignoring him. Great.

“Steve, come on. Don’t be dumb. Reality has gotta be setting in for you by now, pal. This is it. This will be my life from now on. Small cell, routine food and being bored. You ain’t been locked up before so you don’t know. This ain’t a decent life, Rogers.”

When Steve still doesn’t touch him, Bucky realizes the punk’s stubbornness is keeping him glued to the spot—wherever that might be. Looks like Bucky will have to find him.

Putting his hand out, Bucky finds the wall on his right and carefully walks along it, trailing his hand along the wall to guide him and moving slowly enough that if he bumps into something it won’t hurt too much.

Sure enough, his right hip touches something hard, and then his slippers bump into something else. He stops and explores what he’s found. It’s a semi-circle shaped metallic table, attached to the wall. There’s a metallic chair bolted to the floor in front of the table.

Bucky carefully walks around the chair and table and finds the right wall again. He takes a few more steps, then his feet encounter something on the floor.

He brings his hand away from the wall and feels through the air, trying to find where the object is that he’s found. He finds nothing until he’s slightly bent over and feeling at knee-height.

Fabric. Familiar fabric. Stiff and rough. Prison clothes.

He touches the shape a bit more before he realizes he’s found Steve’s knees. His slippers had bumped into Steve’s. Bucky feels around Steve’s legs to figure out what he’s sitting on—he might as well gather more information about his new home before he starts yelling at Steve again—and discovers Steve is sitting on a thin mattress that’s on a metallic bed frame. There’s a pile of folded linens on the mattress next to Steve.

Bucky feels the rest of Steve, and the punk’s slouching against the left wall of the cell. His body doesn’t seem entirely relaxed, but he sure doesn’t feel tense.

Idiot.

Time to give Steve a reality check. Bucky puts a nice smile on his face and crouches down by Steve’s knees, keeping his hand on Steve’s knees so he knows approximately where to direct his gaze.

“Stevie, listen to me. You gotta go home and take care of Maggie, okay? I’ll be fine. I’ve got everything I need in here. I’ll have the routine figured out within a day and I’ll make the best of the situation. But Maggie’s gonna be so sad that she’s lost her entire family. She don’t understand what’s going on and that ain’t fair. She needs you more than I do, Stevie.”

That’s a complete lie, but if it’ll get Steve out of—

Steve takes his hand off his knee and spells out ‘liar’ on it.

Bucky makes a face. Punk. “It ain’t a complete lie. This other person who’s gonna look after her don’t know how to play her games or what kind of treats she likes.”

Steve tells him he told the person exactly what Maggie likes to eat and he told him how to play the pillow game.

“Even so, she can’t lose both of the people who love her most. That ain’t fair.”

Steve gently squeezes his hand. He tells him that Bucky can’t lose everyone who loves him either. And Steve is sorry, so very, very sorry, but this situation is forcing Steve to choose between Bucky and Maggie, and that’s no choice.

Steve will not choose Maggie over Bucky and he doesn’t care what Bucky says. Bucky is welcome to hate him for the rest of his life for that choice, but it’s Steve’s choice and he knows that Bucky needs him more. Maggie has somebody looking after her, and that person knows how to take care of birds. But if Steve leaves, Bucky will have nobody to take care of him and nobody who knows how to fluently communicate with him.

There’s no way Steve is leaving him.

And Steve points out that just because Bucky has survived being locked up in the past doesn’t mean this will be the same. He’s never been locked up without his sight or hearing. He had access to the e-reader when he was at the Raft, as well as visits with Steve. Now, he can’t make use of the e-reader and he won’t get access to anything that can help him fill his days. When he’d been at the Raft, Steve hadn’t been allowed any physical contact with Bucky, so they have no idea if SHIELD would have stuck to those rules this time around too. Steve could visit and stare at him through the bars, but Bucky wouldn’t get any stimulation or enjoyment out of such visits. And that’s assuming that SHIELD would even let him visit in the first place. SHIELD detainees aren’t normally permitted any visitors.

This will be much, much harder for Bucky than his previous prison terms have been, and Steve will not abandon the person he loves to such a fate.

Steve’s words push the last traces of annoyance from Bucky’s mind. Instead, the reality of his situation settles in. He’d been so focused on Maggie and then on Steve that he hadn’t really let it sink in.

He’s going to live in this tiny, cold cell for the rest of his life. No more going for walks, no more taking the train, no more sitting out on the balcony, no more knitting, no more art projects, no more movies, no more braille.

Steve is right. What the hell would he do all day without his sight and hearing to help entertain him and keep him stimulated if Steve weren’t here? Bucky has nothing to provide himself with stimulation. He can picture himself sitting on the bed, surrounded by nothing but darkness and silence. The only breaks in the boredom would be meal times and keeping himself clean. He’d probably exercise a bit, but if he sinks deep into depression, he’d lose the motivation to do that. He’s seen how quickly that happens with Steve.

A shiver of fear runs down his spine. That’s not a life.

That’s not a life at all.

But he won’t have to live such a life. He may not have his games, Maggie, his knitting or access to the outside, but he’s got one thing that’s more important than all of those things put together.

He’s got Steve.

And this idiot punk is willing to throw his entire life away so Bucky doesn’t have to face a lifetime of silence and darkness on his own.

He squeezes his eyes shut, feeling tears brimming them and presses his forehead against Steve’s knees completely overwhelmed with gratefulness. It’s unbelievable that Steve loves him enough to do this.

He feels Steve’s hands running through his hair and gently squeezing the back of his neck.

Bucky fumbles for one of Steve’s hands and squeezes it hard. “I—I—Steve—”

Steve squeezes his hand back and gently tugs on it. [Bucky allows himself to be pulled up and climbs onto Steve’s lap and presses his face into Steve’s neck, breathing in his familiar scent](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15363600).

“I’m so—I’m so damn selfish—” he chokes out, his throat tight.

Steve draws a question mark on his thigh.

Bucky swallows with difficulty. The tears have started streaming down his face and he feels Steve’s arms wrap around him, holding him tight.

“I’m damn selfish cause it’s wrong that you’re here, but I’m damn glad that you are. I—I couldn’t do this without you, Stevie.”

Steve’s arms squeeze tight and Bucky feels a gentle kiss on his left shoulder. Steve lets him cry for a while, gently rocking them and pressing his lips against Bucky’s collarbone so he could feel his lips moving, comforting him.

When that cold, dark fear has receded a bit, Bucky pulls back a bit. Steve picks up his hand and tells him he’ll go get him some tissue to blow his nose and wipe his face.

That reminds Bucky that if he were on his own, he’d have nobody to get him tissue. He’d have to cry himself out first, then focus enough to figure out where the toilet is so he could find the toilet paper.

But Steve’s here and Steve will get him the toilet paper. Because somehow, Bucky got lucky enough for Steve Rogers to fall in love with him so deeply that he doesn’t hesitate between choosing freedom or Bucky.

Steve disappears and returns a few seconds later—it really is a small cell—and helps Bucky wipe his face and nose. Then they snuggle back together on the small bed.

“Stevie?”

Tap.

“I hate that this keeps happening to us.”

Steve spells out ‘me too’.

This whole thing makes Bucky remember something that’s terribly ironic. He gently elbows Steve in the ribs. “Hey, Rogers?”

Tap.

“You remember you once said to me that no place that has you and me together could ever be a prison? You remember? When you found out about the contract?” Bucky snorts, hoping it comes out sounding as ugly and sad as he feels. “Well—I guess you were wrong.”

Steve gives him a tight squeeze and picks up Bucky’s hand. He tells him that they’ll make this work. They’ve always managed to make terrible situations work, and this one’s no different. They’ve got the most important things they need for survival: each other. That’s all they’ve ever needed. They’re gonna be fine. They’ll make this work.

But Bucky knows that Steve has no idea how they’re actually going to make this work without both of them sinking into pits of despair.

Not trusting that he won’t start crying again if he tries talking, Bucky wraps his arm tightly around Steve and buries his face in his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you missed the link in the chapter, please go look at the [beautiful art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15363600) that the incredible Aromo created for this chapter! It shows Steve comforting Bucky in their cell and it's absolutely wonderful!


	87. Chapter 87

Despite their glumness, Steve insists on getting Bucky oriented properly. The cell is small enough that it won’t take long.

Steve helps him walk around the cell and get familiar with the layout and where all the furnishings are located. The table and chair are against the right wall, and Bucky feels the screen of the e-reader embedded into the wall above the table, which sadly won’t be any use to him this time around. Then there’s a sink with a small shelf above it that holds a tube of toothpaste, a toothbrush and then there’s something heavy which Bucky sniffs and determines is a bar of soap before Steve tells him. There aren’t any taps on the sink—just flat touch-buttons that are on either side of a slit in the wall, through which the water comes. The toilet is right next to the sink.

The shower is in the back of the cell. It only consists of a showerhead that’s embedded into the ceiling and flat touch-buttons on the wall to turn the water on and off and change the temperature. It’s a set-up identical to what he had at the Raft, which is a bit of a relief.

There’s a thick piece of plastic jutting out from the wall, keeping the shower area separated from the bed, so somebody showering doesn’t drench the mattress. The bed is a metallic frame that’s bolted to the floor and it’s covered in a thin mattress which Steve covers in the linens.

Thankfully, the cell isn’t cold, so the fact that they only have one, thin blanket to share doesn’t bother them. They both know the temperature in here will never change, no matter what season it is outside.

Seasons are a concept that’s no longer relevant to them. Steve tells him when he’d worked for SHIELD, somebody had told him that the lights in the cell have special bulbs that provide detainees with Vitamin D. There’s no reason to allow detainees any time outdoors.

Once Bucky has done a few circuits around the cell and gotten accustomed to where everything is, Steve pulls him down on the bed and asks him what he thinks about continuing to voice.

“Huh? Rogers, we had a conversation about this. I told you—I don’t care what people think and there ain’t nobody to say rude things about me in here anyway. Me being verbal’s important to you, so I’m gonna keep doing it.”

Steve tells him that there are a lot of cameras in the cell and he knows the guards are listening to every word they say. He’s also sure that Natasha will try to help them, but they shouldn’t discuss any of that in a way the guards can understand. And if they’re sometimes voicing and sometimes not, then the guards will get suspicious. If they just stop voicing completely—both of them—then the guards won’t ever know what they’re talking about. They may be suspicious at first, but they’ll eventually think that the two of them are just chatting about mundane things.

Bucky thinks it over.

He likes that plan. It makes little difference to him if he voices or not. Sure, communication goes faster if he verbalizes, and he’s not as quick as Steve is with the tactile spelling, but he’ll get better and they’ll be fine.

But Bucky hates the thought that Steve will never get to hear his voice again. He doesn’t really believe that Natasha will be able to help them, but if it’ll make Steve feel better then Bucky will agree to stop voicing. Maybe in a few months or years, Steve’s naïve faith will have evaporated and then Bucky will use his voice to cheer him up.

So Bucky agrees to stop voicing. He almost tells Steve so out-loud…until he realizes how foolish that would be. Instead, he flips their hands around and makes their sign for ‘okay’. He warns Steve that he may slip up a bit at the beginning. Not being able to hear himself talk means he may just start voicing out of habit, and Steve has to be very strict about stopping him.

*             *             *

By the time they’re served their second dinner—meaning they’ve been in the cell for about 24 hours—Bucky has somewhat settled into not speaking out-loud, which means Steve needs to get accustomed to the eerie silence that’s descended over them.

Bucky’s talking has been such a constant in his life that he remembers the absence of it during his years alone helped the depression grab hold of him. Now, Bucky might be here, but the silence is still very strange.

He starts paying more attention to the sounds around him, desperate to fill the void left by their voices. The force field on the cell door gives off a constant low hum, their stiff clothes rustle whenever they shift and when Steve is really listening hard, he can hear Bucky and himself breathing. Sometimes they yawn or sneeze or scratch themselves, and all of those little sounds now sound too loud and odd in the silence of their cell.

Steve realizes he’s getting to experience a hint of what Bucky’s daily existence is like. It’s very unsettling and Steve finds himself more in awe of how strong Bucky Barnes is.

Unlike Steve, Bucky can strain to hear any small sound around him in a desperate effort to fill the silence, but no matter how hard he tries, he’ll never hear anything. Nothing ever fills that heavy silence.

Thankfully, the rest of their existence is easier to get accustomed to. The screen on the wall has a built-in clock and date, so Steve randomly tells Bucky what time it is so he can keep himself on track. The lights in their cell are never dimmed, but it doesn’t bother Steve.

Steve is still holding out hope that Natasha will help them, so he keeps a careful eye on the date as the days start to pass. He doesn’t want to lose track of the outside world because he knows there’s a chance that he and Bucky will re-join it one day.

Sleeping is stressful for Bucky at first. Steve knows he misses his motion sensor band, and the lack of control over his surroundings brings some of that fear back from his early days at home. Steve tries pointing out that he doesn’t have control over who enters their cell either, but Bucky points out that at least Steve will know when somebody comes in, which is true.

To make Bucky feel better, they sleep with Bucky up against the wall and they face each other, so their hands are close enough to communicate if anything happens. During the day, they try to position themselves so Steve is always between Bucky and the cell door. If anybody comes in, Steve will reach Bucky and be able to warn him before the intruder gets to him.

*             *             *

Making things as pleasant as possible for Steve becomes Bucky’s main goal in life. There are three simple reasons behind the creation of that goal: he loves Steve and wants him to be as happy as possible, he has more experience with long-term captivity, and this is all his fault.

On the days where he’s glum and the grief from missing Maggie and their former lives threatens to get to him, he firmly reminds himself that he can’t allow himself to wallow in his misery since it’s his responsibility to stay strong for Steve, and this is all his fault anyway.

Some of the guilt is from having dragged Steve into this mess by asking seven year-old Steve to be friends with him twenty-five years ago. There’s no telling what paths their lives would have gone down if they’d never become friends, but Bucky’s sure it wouldn’t have ended with Steve being in permanent solitary confinement. He knows Steve would consider that stupid, so he keeps it to himself.

There’s also the guilt from having chosen to do the surgery in the first place, which is another reason that they’re stuck in here. He knows Steve doesn’t agree with him feeling guilty over that, so he doesn’t bother bringing it up.

He also feels guilty over having learned braille. He’d underestimated how paranoid and stupid Ross could be and that underestimation was definitely his fault. He should have foreseen this possibility—even if it was a ridiculous possibility—and again, that means he’s responsible for this mess. Like his other thoughts, he’s sure Steve wouldn’t agree, but Steve’s always biased when it comes to judging Bucky’s action accurately, so Bucky keeps these thoughts to himself too.

The guilt is difficult to cope with, but Bucky has to shove it aside in order to maintain his cheerful demeanor, which is his biggest priority. He needs to stay positive so Steve will stay positive, which is the only way Steve will stay active and mentally and physically healthy. Bucky knows Steve will eventually have some bad days—and Bucky’s really not looking forward to those—but keeping Steve distracted and physically healthy will help push off those days a bit.

Remembering his other periods of imprisonment, he knows the key is to focus on their day-to-day existence. Dwelling on the years that they’ll spend in this small cell is a quick way to lose enthusiasm for life, so he needs to keep Steve and himself from thinking about that too much.

He just hopes the guilt will fade over time.

*             *             *

Bucky wakes up slowly, feeling a bit overly warm at having Steve wedged so close to him. It’s something he’s starting to get used to.

After four days, they’ve settled into an easy routine that helps to fill their days as much as possible and makes time keep moving, even if it moves slowly.

Bucky slides his hand up Steve’s chest, waiting for him to wake up. He can tell by a small shift and a change in his breathing pattern when he’s awake. Smiling, Bucky searches for Steve’s hand under the covers and spells out their abbreviation for ‘good morning’. Steve squeezes his hand and flips their hands around to repeat what Bucky spelled.

Moving his hand back up Steve’s chest, Bucky finds his lips and they exchange chaste, light kisses. They haven’t tried doing anything more intimate yet, and Bucky really doesn’t want to give the guards monitoring them a show, but he refuses to accept that orgasms are no longer part of their reality, especially shared ones. He’ll wait a few more days before he sees how much they can get away with.

It's weird kissing Steve with both of their beards starting to grow in. The guards hadn’t given them any tools they could use to shave with, so their facial hair is doing whatever it wants to do. Bucky hopes they’ll be allowed to at least trim their moustaches eventually. He knows from prior experience how annoying it is to eat when there’s hair constantly trying to get into his mouth.

Steve gets off the bed first and disappears to do his morning bathroom routine while Bucky slowly folds up the blanket. When he feels a tap on his arm, that’s Bucky’s cue to go wash his face and brush his teeth. When he’s done, he usually heads back to the bed to sit with Steve until Steve tells him breakfast is here.

Steve gets the tray and they sit on the floor across from each other, with Steve’s back to the cell door. The breakfast food is always the same and Bucky starts by exploring everything on the tray so he knows where everything is. One muffin, two hard-boiled eggs, two slices of ham, one piece of plain bread and a paper cup filled with fruit. No utensils. There’s one mug of vitamin-infused juice that tastes like melted plastic.

It’s not much, but they can drink as much water as they want from the tap and the food is enough to keep them from starving.

Steve always splits the muffin and toast in half and they slowly eat breakfast, taking turns sharing the juice and the cup of fruit. Bucky always leaves the pineapple pieces for Steve because he knows the punk doesn’t like the grapes.

When they’re done eating and Steve slides the tray out halfway out through the slot at the bottom of the door, they decide what activity they want to do. Their main objective is to make time pass in an enjoyable way and to make sure both of them are using their brains. Coming up with activities to do that are as stimulating for Bucky as for Steve is difficult, so they get creative.

They hoard the muffin wrapper and the paper cup that the fruit comes in and Steve washes and dries them. Their ever-growing stack can be used for a lot games. They play hide-and-seek with the cups and wrappers, with Steve hiding them throughout the cell and not telling Bucky how many he hid or where they are. Doing the seeking isn’t as fun for Steve, since the cell has so few things in it that he can easily see where Bucky hid the paper wrappers, so Steve does the seeking with his eyes closed. When that gets too easy—there are only so many places Bucky can easily hide the wrappers without Steve’s help—Bucky comes up with a different version of the game for Steve. While Steve keeps his eyes closed, Bucky will make minor changes around the cell—moving the toothbrush to face a different way, folding the blanket in a new way—and then Steve has to figure out what he changed and how.

Each morning brings a new muffin wrapper and a new fruit cup, meaning their small collection slowly grows. They’re both looking forward to the day when they’ll have enough pieces to play tic-tac-toe, using the tiles on the floor as their board. Once they get a big enough pile to allow them to tear some of them into different shapes, they’re planning on turning them into chess pieces, using the smaller tiles of the shower floor as their board.

Today, they decide to play a game that doesn’t require their little paper wrappers. While Steve goes to wash the wrappers and leave them to dry on the shelf, Bucky waits on the floor. When Steve returns, he settles across from Bucky and closes his eyes—Bucky hopes. They hold out one hand each with palms barely touching and their hands parallel with the floor. Bucky’s hand starts out on top, meaning it’s Steve’s turn first.

Bucky waits, focusing all of his attention on Steve’s hand beneath his own. Steve’s objective is to pull his hand out from underneath Bucky’s and lightly slap his hand before Bucky can pull it away. It’s a game they’ve played since they were kids and they’re both experts at it.

Bucky can feel Steve wiggling his fingers a bit, but that won’t fool him. He opens his mouth to tell Steve he has to do a better job than that—when he remembers he’s not supposed to be voicing. Instead, he wiggles his own fingers, making fun of Steve’s attempts to distract him.

In answer, Steve’s index finger gently strokes Bucky’s palm, no doubt an attempt to distract him. Bucky knows the punk is grinning. The stroking tickles and Bucky knows Steve knows it’s ann—

Lighting quick, Steve uses Bucky’s momentary distraction to flip his hand over his and slap the top of his hand.

Bucky opens his mouth to swear, but catches himself at the last second. Instead, he gropes through the air, finds Steve’s chest and gives it a playful shove.

His hand is grabbed and pressed to Steve’s satisfied grin. Steve presses Bucky’s hand back to his chest and then makes the number sign on his palm, followed by squeezing the tip of his thumb.

Steve has one point.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Bucky shots him an unimpressed look and taps Steve’s hand a bit harder than necessary, hoping Steve can feel he’s doing it sarcastically. Giving Steve another little shove, Bucky grabs his hand and gets them set up, putting his own hand underneath. His turn.

They usually play whatever game they picked until lunch time. Sadly, their lunch and dinner don’t come with any removable things that they’re allowed to keep.

After lunch, they do some tactile exercises. Steve had insisted that Bucky keep practicing his tactile perception skills, which Bucky thought was pointless. He won’t ever be allowed to learn braille, in fact, braille is the reason they’re here—but doing the exercises keeps them mentally engaged, and that’s important.

After Steve folds a muffin wrapper into a specific size, Bucky has to carefully count how many of the frilly paper bumps he can feel. Steve pinches lines of wrinkles into the bedsheets and Bucky has to track the wrinkles without crushing them and identify which wrinkles are shortest. The rivets in the bedframe become part of the exercises too. Bucky has to touch them in specific patterns or they assign numbers to each rivet and they do math games with them.

After the tactile exercises, it’s time for physical exercise. Steve always strips down to his underwear, and Bucky keeps only his shirt and underwear on. He hates the idea of the guards staring at his scarred left shoulder. Working up a sweat is good, but sweating into the only clothes they have isn’t fun. Doing laundry in a tiny sink isn’t fun either, so exercising without clothes on is easier.

They jog in place, do sit-ups, Steve does push-ups on the floor and Bucky does them against the wall, and they do various stretches separately and together to keep every part of their body moving. After about an hour of exercising, they take turns having a shower and by the time they’re dry and dressed, dinner is delivered.

They haven’t had to wash their clothes yet, but it’ll be laundry time in a few days.

After dinner, they usually devote a few hours to chatting or reading together. Bucky will make up stories, or they’ll take turns making up stories with each of them contributing one line at a time. Steve had tried including Maggie as a character in their stories, but that had filled Bucky with sadness and made him lose his enthusiasm for the story.

He can’t handle thinking about Maggie without worrying about her, feeling horribly guilty for abandoning her and fiercely missing her. He tells Steve if he wants Bucky to stay in a positive frame of mind, he’s better off not bringing up Maggie.

Maybe in a few months the pain won’t be as raw anymore, but right now, it’s too fresh.

If Bucky’s not in the mood to help come up with stories, Steve will turn on the e-reader, find a book and interpret it for Bucky. Or Bucky will amuse himself with something else while letting Steve read. He knows how hard it is for Steve to interpret the dense text of a book for him, so he doesn’t ask Steve to do it often.

*             *             *

On Day 5, Steve surprises Bucky by asking him if he wants to spend the evening practicing braille. That takes Bucky by surprise—but it’s not a nice surprise. Steve had reminded Bucky that they shouldn’t practice ASL fingerspelling, because they don’t want the guards knowing that Bucky understands it. Bucky had foolishly thought Steve would be willing to leave their other newly learned communication methods behind too.

Their day had gone pretty well, considering it had been laundry day.

Steve had washed their clothes in the little sink right after breakfast and he’d draped the clothes around the cell and allowed them to dry. Bucky hates being without his shirt on, so he spent the day with the blanket draped around him. He needed to hold it closed whenever he walked anywhere, making it harder to move around smoothly, which had annoyed him. His shirt hadn’t been dry before dinner, so he did very minimal exercising. The earlier cheerfulness he’d gained from having been able to finally play Tic-Tac-Toe that morning had long faded.

And now Steve suggests practicing braille, which deflates Bucky’s mood even further. His first reaction is surprise, following swiftly by annoyance. He flips their hands around and demands to know why they need to practice braille. Braille is the reason they’re in here.

That makes Steve grab his hand, give it a hard shake and then he’s rubbing the back of his hand. He tells Bucky that they’re in here because Ross is an idiot. It’s got nothing to do with braille. And once Natasha gets them out of here, doesn’t Bucky want to pick up where he left off? To do that, he’ll need to practice a bit.

That’s when Bucky loses his temper. The blanket had slid a bit off his shoulder during Steve’s hand shaking and Bucky yanks the blanket up around him again before grabbing for Steve’s hand. He vigorously rubs Steve’s hand and tells him that he’s fine supporting Steve’s naïve dream of freedom, but asking him to practice braille is going way too far.

Steve’s hand stays limp and motionless in his grasp for a while and Bucky is about to apologize for snapping like that, but then Steve is spelling out: ‘Nat will come.’

Bucky sighs. He tells Steve that he knows Steve really does believe that and—

Flipping their hands around, Steve repeats what he said, but adds more emphasis. ‘Nat will come. Will. Will. _Will_.’

Making a face at how hard Steve is digging his fingers into his palm, Bucky smacks Steve’s hand away  and rubs his hand on his thigh as he thinks it over. He wishes he could believe what Steve is saying, but he really doesn’t see a way out of here. Bucky had signed the stupid contract, Ross had decided he’d violated the contract and because Ross’ word is law, Bucky will be staying locked up for the rest of his life.

There’s nothing Natasha can do to force Ross to change his mind.

Steve gently picks up his hand and Bucky feels a kiss on his palm. Steve’s spelling is calmer when he starts talking again.

‘Please don’t give up.’

‘Please, please, please.’

Bucky sighs. He tells Steve he really, really doesn’t see a way out of here and he thinks it’s foolish to keep clinging to false hope.

Rub, rub, rub.

It’s not false hope, Steve says. It may not be the strongest hope he’s ever had, but it’s real hope and Steve is sure that Natasha will figure something out. It might take time, but she will.

Bucky sighs softly. He doesn’t want to keep arguing about this, so he tells Steve he’s willing to practice braille. Predictably, that cheers Steve up. But then comes the bigger issue: how the hell are they going to practice braille?? They don’t have anything to practice with.

Steve squeezes his hand and lays Bucky’s hand on his thigh, smoothing out his palm. Then Bucky feels three of Steve’s fingers poking into his palm, the fingers evenly spaced apart. The fingers lift away, then they press down again, on another part of Bucky’s palm.

Bucky frowns. What the hell is the punk—

Then Steve is poking one finger into his palm, in the same spot that he’d previously pressed. Bucky doesn’t get it, but Steve keeps going. Once the single finger is lifted away, that same spot is poked again, but now another finger is pressing below it. The fingers are lifted away, then two fingers poke at the same time again, but this time, they’re poking side by side.

Oh!

Bucky smiles, finally understanding. The punk is creating a braille cell on his palm!

To make sure he understands, he flips their hands around and pokes three fingers onto one side of Steve’s palm (dots 1, 2 and 3), lifts them off and presses a finger next to the dot 3 location; creating dot 6.

Steve makes the British fingerspelling sign for the letter ‘V’, which is correct. Bucky happily taps his hand and holds his palm out, ready for Steve’s turn.

It’s actually more fun than Bucky thought it would be. He struggles a bit with the cell configurations he had always had trouble with, like M and N, and he confuses S and T numerous times too, but it comes back to him quickly. Before they go to bed that night, they’re spelling out full words for each other, and Steve tells him he wants to add in punctuation marks and numbers tomorrow.

While Bucky still has no faith that Natasha will be able to help them, he’s glad that they’ve found another activity to keep them busy.

*             *             *

The night before Day 6 is done, Bucky finds Steve’s hand as they’re getting ready to fall asleep. He’s ready to test how much they can get away with and while spending all day with Steve is fantastic, he’s missing having orgasms.

He tells Steve that tomorrow morning, he has special plans for him, but Steve shouldn’t do anything to give them away. He asks him if he remembers how they used to do things back during the war?

Steve’s tapping on his hand is very enthusiastic.

Whether Steve remembers or not, Bucky reminds him of the ground rules: Steve needs to keep his eyes closed and stay as quiet and still as he can. Oh, and can Steve casually get a big wad of toilet paper and keep it under the blankets? Back in the day, they’d used one of their spare shirts, but that’s not an option now.

Steve grabs Bucky’s hand and presses it to his lips where Bucky can feel a huge grin on his face and disappears to get the toilet paper. Bucky smothers his own grin, not wanting the guards to figure anything out.

The next morning, Bucky wakes up and spends a few minutes mentally waking up, while keeping his eyes closed. He wants to create the appearance that he’s just dozing. Shifting just enough to move his hand down to find Steve’s under the covers, he squeezes Steve’s hand a few times to make sure he’s awake. Then he reaches down to find the wad of toilet paper that Steve had discreetly shoved under the blankets last night. Excellent. His plan is on track.

When he feels Steve shifting, Bucky slides his hand to the elastic waistband of Steve’s pants and gently rubs the edge, just barely touching Steve’s skin. Steve stiffens, and Bucky is ready to yank his hand back if the punk doesn’t remember his earlier instructions, but Steve settles quickly. He doesn’t relax entirely, but Bucky feels him casually turn his face into Bucky’s neck, hopefully hiding his face from view.

To the guards watching them, it would just look like Steve is shifting in his sleep. Steve’s scruffy beard feels weird on his neck, but it’s something Bucky will have to get accustomed to.

This all reminds him of how things used to be during the war.

Before the war, being intimate with each other required some caution, but not a lot. Being affectionate with each other in public wasn’t allowed, but that wasn’t something they’d even thought about, so it wasn’t a hardship. Their little apartment may have shielded them from prying eyes, but due to a lack of good insulation and the small size of their apartment, noise could travel easily. As long as they stayed in bed and stayed quiet, they could do whatever they wanted.

Things had been completely different during the war. They often had to share tents and barracks with others and most times it was impossible to sleep close enough to each other to get away with anything intimate. Stolen moments behind trees or while sweeping vacant buildings were their only options on most days. Their best opportunities came when they got their own tent. But even that wasn’t perfect. The tent walls were thin and anybody could burst it in at any point to tell Steve something, so that’s when they’d perfected the ability to make each other good feel without making it obvious to anyone who was looking at them.

Steve had always been terrible at keeping his emotions off his face—especially when his new body reacted in ways he was still unfamiliar with—so Steve would always hide his face in Bucky’s neck and Bucky was the one who had to keep an eye out on their surroundings and keep his emotions hidden.

Bucky’s definitely not a good choice for keeping an eye on their surroundings now, but Steve will know if anybody comes in and Bucky will know from his body language if something is wrong.

Checking that the blanket is tucked up to their chins and covering them from view, Bucky gently tugs on Steve’s waistband and they both shift as they casually slide their pants down to their knees and tangle their legs together.

Steve gets himself settled with his beard scratching Bucky’s neck and his breath warming Bucky’s skin. Bucky stuffs the toilet paper down between their knees and then goes searching for Steve’s cock. It’s still half asleep and soft, but hopefully it won’t be that way for long. Gently squeezing it, Bucky rubs and squeezes it, coaxing it into wakefulness.

Steve’s breath stutters a bit and he feels a kiss on his neck. Catching a smile before it can spread over his face, Bucky tightens his grip and rubs Steve’s thickening cock. He swipes his thumb over the head, feeling the first beads of precum oozing from the tip. Staying at the head, he rubs and swirls his thumb over it, feeling Steve tensing and his nose pressing hard into Bucky’s neck. It’s too damn bad Bucky’s missing his other arm, or he’d be playing with Steve’s nipples at the same time. But Steve’s feeling good and that’s what matters.

Taking his hand off Steve’s cock, Bucky discreetly pulls the blankets up higher to cover his mouth so he can lick his hand. Bringing it back down, he finds Steve’s cock again. He can feel the slow burn of arousal in his belly and his cock is hard where it’s nestled next to Steve’s, but he ignores it for now.

Finding Steve’s cock, he wraps his moist hand around it, squeezes and stroking the hard length. His hand isn’t moving enough to give anything away, but it’s a fast rhythm and the right amount of pressure that Steve needs to come quickly.

Bucky feels Steve’s hand running over his arm and settling on his hip, squeezing hard and his breath is panting into Bucky’s neck. He presses his face harder into Bucky’s neck, hopefully muffling the sounds he can’t stop. His body is tense and Bucky strokes hard a few more times before he focuses on the head again, rubbing this thumb over the slit, and that’s when Steve’s cock twitches in his hand and he feels him coming, his entire body going rigid.

Bucky grabs the toilet paper and gentles Steve through the rest of his orgasm as his cock spurts and his leg twitches. He’s sweating from being underneath the blanket and having Steve’s hot breath panting against his neck, but oh, it was worth it. Moving discreetly, he wipes Steve up, then stuffs the toilet paper back down between their knees and shifts so his cock is rubbing against Steve’s leg.

He feels Steve’s panting lips curl into a smile and then Steve’s hand is releasing its grip on Bucky’s hip, presumably to travel to Steve’s mouth so he can moisten it.

They fumble a bit with Bucky moving his hand to Steve’s hip and Steve finding Bucky’s cock. When Steve wraps his moist, warm hand around his length, it feels so good that Bucky has to hold his breath to prevent a loud groan from escaping.

Steve knows he wants to come quickly and he settles into a fast rhythm, stroking and rubbing but keeping the movements small enough that Bucky knows they’re undetectable from above the blanket.

Sparks shoot through him and it feels so damn good that Bucky parts his lips so he can pant a bit but he doesn’t allow his face to give him away. He’s focusing on his face so he doesn’t notice when his hips start thrusting into Steve’s grip, but Steve notices. Steve releases his cock to grab Bucky’s hips and stills them, then returns to his cock, twisting his wrist under the head and stroking him.

Panting as quietly as he can (he hopes), Bucky transfers the building arousal into his grip on Steve’s hip, digging his fingers in and keeping as still as possible while Steve strokes and rubs. It doesn’t take long until Bucky’s body seizes up and he’s coming. He manages to hold his breath at the last second, trapping any sounds that may have materialized and lets his body shudder and twitch as he comes.

The feeling of toilet paper gently rubbing over his cock and his shirt lets him know that Steve’s cleaning him up and he doesn’t have to do anything but lie here. He lets his breathing and heart rate calm naturally and Steve’s chastely kissing his neck and pressing his smiling lips against it. Not even the itchiness of the beard is enough to make this feel any less amazing.

Well done, Barnes. And well done, Rogers. If his hand weren’t still glued to Steve’s hip, he’d be shaking his hand. They’re still experts at hiding their queerness in plain sight.

Excellent!

As much as Bucky wants to bask in the afterglow, he knows it’s already a bit later than they usually get up, and routine is essential when wanting to avoid suspicion. He dislodges his grip from Steve’s hip, finds Steve’s hand and tells him to get up and get cleaned up. Hopefully their clean-up job did a decent job of hiding the evidence. Bucky discreetly shoves the wad of dirty toilet paper down his pants. He’ll toss it into the toilet when he goes to wash his hand and face when Steve’s done.

When nobody has stormed into their cell by the time they’re settling down for breakfast, Bucky thinks they managed to get away with it. Either they fooled the guards, or they were discreet enough that the guards turned a blind eye to their morning activity.

That puts Bucky into an even better mood and he happily bites into his half of the muffin which Steve hands him…

…and then he has to stop himself from immediately spitting it back out.

The normally bland muffin has a special addition to it this morning.

Onions.

_Onions._

In a muffin.

What kind of a moron baker did SHIELD buy these from?? He reaches out for Steve’s muffin half and sniffs it. He can smell the onions in that half too. Damn.

While he’s putting Steve’s muffin back, he feels Steve grab his hand and squeeze very hard. Bucky tries shaking him loose, but Steve clings on, squeezing hard. Bucky’s considering kicking him to let go—he can’t tell him to give him his hand back using his voice—when Steve asks him if he noticed the muffin.

Bucky rolls his eyes. He tells Steve that no, having an orgasm clearly killed off what’s left of his brain.

Steve jostles his hand impatiently, so Bucky tells him that yes, he noticed. How could anybody not notice onions in a God damn muffin?! Is this a 21st century thing?

Instead of joining Bucky in his lament over having a disgusting muffin for breakfast, Steve’s hand is shaking and he’s tapping Bucky’s hand enthusiastically. He seems thrilled about it.

Bucky doesn’t understand why having a disgusting muffin is so exciting. Of course he’ll eat his half—they’re almost constantly hungry due to the small food portions anyway—but he’s not excited to eat something that tastes gross.

He doesn’t understand how somebody could accidentally put onions into a muffin. Somebody would have had to dump the onions into the batter before baking the muffins, which has to be done on purpose—or their baker is an idiot.

While he laments the stupidity of the baker, he takes another bite and chews. His mind automatically assesses the taste of the onions…and he realizes they’re not ordinary strips of onion. They have a certain flavor to them…

….a flavor that’s oddly familiar. They’re fried and they’ve got some extra flavor on them that’s not coming from the onions or the muffin.

Slowing his chewing, he focuses on the onions, moving them around his mouth and trying to gather more information about them.

He tries to think of the last time he’d eaten onions that tasted like this. Steve uses onions in cooking all the time, but none of the sauces he makes taste like these ones do. Bucky takes another bite of the muffin and chews, searching his memory for this particular flavor.

Finally, it comes to him. ‘Varenichnaya’! Natasha’s favourite Russian restaurant in Brighton.

That’s where they get fried onions that taste exactly like this!

But…how is that possible?!

It can’t...it can’t be an accident. There’s no way fried onions from a restaurant in Brighton accidentally got into a muffin being served in a SHIELD detention facility.

There’s only one explanation: Somehow, somebody found a way to manipulate their food in order to send them a message, and there’s only one person who would use such a clever and discreet method to send them a message.

Natasha Romanov is letting them know she knows where they are.

And when Steve starts spelling rapidly, Bucky realizes something else: Apparently, Romanov hasn’t given up hope that she’ll find a way to get them out of here. He already knows what Rogers is going to say before he tracks the letters. He wants Bucky not to give up. He wants Bucky to continue believing that Natasha will find them a way out of this.

Bucky sighs softly. He puts a small smile on his face, but he can’t muster up more enthusiasm than that. Just because Natasha figured out how to switch part of their breakfast under their guards noses doesn’t mean that she can break them out of here. Maybe she could break Steve out, but not Bucky. And Steve won’t go without Bucky, so that’s pointless.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts by Steve gently shaking and squeezing his hand. He spells out ‘Don’t give up’ on Bucky’s palm.

Bucky sighs and turns their hands around. He tells Steve to finish his breakfast before the ham turns to rubber.

When they discover that the lettuce in their lunch salad has been switched for cabbage—Natasha is really making sure they got the message—it cements their moods. Steve becomes more excited and his hope blossoms, while Bucky gets sad and moody, always hating to be reminded of the real world when he knows he won’t ever get to live in it again.

Steve tries to cheer him up and he keeps pleading with Bucky to not give up hope, but Bucky doesn’t feel like continuing to fake his belief that Natasha will rescue them and he always changes the subject.

Eventually, Bucky knows that Steve will be forced to abandon this silly hope, even if Natasha continues sending them useless signals like this and re-lighting the flame of Steve’s hope. Eventually, it’ll burn out and then Bucky will have to work hard and getting Steve to stay positive, but he’ll deal with that when it comes.


	88. Chapter 88

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If your seatbelts haven’t been fastened yet, now is a good time...

Balancing the two paper cups of coffee on top of each other, Liam swipes his ID card and shoves the guard room door open with his shoulder. Ryan’s slouched on his chair, playing a game on his phone.

“Morning, Sunshine,” Liam says, putting Ryan’s coffee on the desk and dropping into the chair next to his.

Ryan mutters a greeting and frowns at his phone, clearly distracted. Liam scans the screen of monitors, checking on each of the detainees and seeing how far along everybody is with their morning routine.

As always, he spends an extra minute looking at the screens showing Barnes and Rogers. Barnes is frowning while he’s chewing on his muffin, which is a bit odd, but maybe he thinks the muffin’s stale or he’s annoyed with Rogers. Liam checks the other monitor that shows him Rogers’ face. Rogers has a small smile on his face and he’s staring at Barnes, but that’s normal.

Liam opens his mouth to ask Ryan if anything unusual happened that morning—the answer to which is usually ‘no’—when the door bursts open and General Ross steps inside.

Scrambling to his feet, Liam smacks Ryan’s shoulder on his way up and Ryan nearly falls out of his chair in his hurry to stand up and discreetly stuff his phone into his uniform pocket.

It’s not every day that the General comes bursting into their little office. In fact, last Liam had heard, the General had been at some emergency meeting in Europe and wasn’t even expected back for a few days.

Ross steps into the room, eyes on the monitors. “As you were, gentlemen.”

Liam and Ryan relax their stances a bit.

Stepping closer to the monitors, Ross seems to be staring at the screens showing Rogers and Barnes. “How long have Barnes and Rogers been sharing a cell?”

“Since they were brought in, sir. They came in together.”

Ross’ face is unreadable. “Who authorized that?”

“Colonel Sutton, sir. At least, I assume so, sir. It was Sutton’s signature on the intake form. Major Cheng brought them in and he told us to allow them to stay together because of Barnes’ disa—”

“I want a full report of what they’ve been discussing and I want it on my desk within the hour.”

Liam frowns, confused. “Ah…what do you mean, sir?”

Ross gives him a look like Liam left his brain at home this morning. “Barnes is an accused terrorist and Rogers is his accomplice. I want a full report of what they’ve been discussing. As I’m sure you can appreciate, anything they say to each other can be an indicator of future plans they may have to harm this country.”

Liam stares at the monitor showing Barnes and Rogers getting set up to play one of their games, using the tiles on the floor of the cell. Rogers closes his eyes and they both start from their own knees and trace the tile grout in an effort to reach the other person’s right knee first. He and Ryan like taking bets on who will win.

He didn’t think this was how terrorists behaved, but maybe he’s wrong? He really doesn’t think Rogers and Barnes have been plotting terrorist plans during their games. But…that’s the real problem, isn’t it? He has no idea what they’ve been talking about, or if they’ve been planning anything more important than when to wash their clothes or what game to play.

“I’m sorry sir, but we have no idea what they’ve been discussing,” Liam admits.

Ross’ face twitches and his impassive expression turns darker. “It’s your job to keep detailed records of what the detainees are doing.”

“Yes, sir. We do keep a record of what they’re doing. But we can’t record their conversations.”

“We’ve been over this, Sergeant. You are acting on my authority and the detainees have no legal rights.”

Ryan is fidgeting a bit and Liam doesn’t blame him. He knows Ross won’t like how this conversation turns out, but there’s nothing he can do to change reality. “Sir, you misunderstand. We can’t record their conversations because they haven’t had any conversations.”

Ryan frowns. “Well, no, that’s not true.”

Liam realizes Ryan’s technically right, but that won’t help answer Ross’ question. Despite that, Ross turns to Ryan, like he’ll have the answers he seeks. “What have they been saying, Sergeant?”

“Uh…well, that’s…that’s a difficult question to answer, sir.”

Ross looks like he’s going to toss both of them into a cell right next to Barnes and Rogers. “And why is that?”

“Because…well…they don’t use words to talk, sir.”

Ross sighs heavily. “Obviously body language is an important aspect of communication, but…”

“No, sir, that’s not what we mean. They…they don’t use…I mean, they talk…but we can’t hear when they talk.”

“Well, then turn up the damn volume on the microphones!” Ross bursts out.

Liam’s never seen the General lose his temper like that, but it doesn’t stop Ryan. “That won’t help, sir! They don’t use words to talk. They’re only using their hands and we’ve tried to figure out the code, but they talk too fast and the movements are so small that we can’t get anywhere with that. Look!”

Ryan points at the monitor, where Rogers has just reached Barnes’ knee first and is laughing with delight. Barnes is smiling too, but he’s alternating between shoving Rogers in the chest and saying something to him, his fingers flying over Rogers’ hand. But Rogers’ hand is turned upside down, so it just looks like Barnes is tickling his palm, but Liam knows that they’re communicating. He’s watched them enough to know that they can have entire conversations just by using their fingers on the other person’s palm.

Sure enough, Rogers lets out another laugh and flips their hands over and he responds. Whatever he says makes Barnes wiggle his eyebrows at him suggestively and smack Rogers in the chest a bit harder.

Ryan gestures at the screen. “You see? They’re definitely talking. In fact, they rarely shut up, but they don’t use words we can hear. We can see the words, but unless they start doing it a lot slower and somebody tells us how to figure out the code they’re using, we’ll never know what they’re saying.”

Ross stares at the monitor for a long moment. Then he abruptly turns around and leaves, slamming the door behind him.

*             *             *

On Day 11, Steve wakes up while Bucky’s still sleeping. It doesn’t happen often and Steve takes the time to stare at Bucky, watching him sleep.

This life isn’t perfect. They both miss Maggie and the rest of their former lives, they’re hungry all the time, their games are starting to lose their excitement and Steve knows that Bucky’s mood will continue getting a bit lower each day as long as he doesn’t have faith that Natasha will eventually save them. But Steve always tries to look on the bright side. He’s got Bucky and Bucky’s got him. They’re not in pain, they’re not scared, they’re not lonely. The situation could be much worse, but Steve refuses to dwell on that.

He knows Natasha will help them. Before the muffin message, he’d had a small glimmer of doubt, but that’s now disappeared. He knows Natasha will get them out of this. They just have to stay on their best behavior and survive until that happens.

Pulling his hand out from underneath the blankets, he gently touches Bucky’s chest and then his neck, gently stroking his skin and watching him wake up.

Bucky’s eyes stay closed, but when he smiles, Steve knows he’s awake. He leans over and kisses Bucky on the lips. He’s surprised to find that he’s getting used to their facial hair being included in the process. Then he pulls Bucky’s hand up and presses it to his own lips.

He mouths the words: ‘I love you, Buck’, enunciating each word extra carefully so Bucky can feel his lips amid his beard.

He watches Bucky’s smile get bigger and his eyes open. Then Bucky presses Steve’s hand to his own lips and mouths the words back to him. He says ‘I love you, Stevie’, which Steve can now recognize from the shapes Bucky’s lips form while he says the words.

Smiling, Steve gently flicks Bucky on the tip of the nose, tosses the blanket off himself and rolls off the bed. Sliding his feet into his slippers, he shuffles over to the sink to start their day.

He turns on the water and reaches for the toothbrush…and that’s when the force field on their cell door sparks and flickers off. That’s immediately followed by the sound of the metal bars groaning. The sound is annoyingly loud in the near silence that Steve’s gotten accustomed to.

But he quickly realizes he can’t be focusing on the noise. The bars are coming out of the holes in the floor, which means the door is going to open. And that…that…Steve doesn’t know what to do with that knowledge.

It’s been eleven days since the door has opened, so Steve just stands there—frozen—before he realizes that if the door is opening, somebody will probably be coming in, which means he needs to get to Bucky.

He lunges for Bucky, who’s still dozing on the bed. He manages to grab Bucky’s arm, which badly startles Bucky and makes him shrink away from Steve—but Steve ignores him and grabs his hand.

He frantically spells ‘visitor’, which is hopefully enough, because the bars are fully out of the floor and the door is swinging open. He sees three guards and none of them are familiar to him.

“Rogers, up against the wall. Hands flat on the wall and don’t move.”

“I need to tell—”

“Wall. Now. Or we’ll move you by force.”

Steve drops Bucky’s hand and turns to face the wall next to the sink, putting his palms against the wall. The sound of the words he and the guard had spoken seem to echo around the small cell. The words had sounded way too loud and completely out of place.

He glances at Bucky, who’s sat up, his face pale. He’s opening and closing his mouth, probably torn over whether to speak out-loud or not. Steve can tell Bucky’s tense and scared, bracing himself for contact from strangers and not daring to move.

The guards step into the cell and approach both of them. One of the guards grabs Steve’s hands and cuffs them together in front of him, then attaches a chain around his waist to which his handcuffs are attached.

“I need to guide Barnes. I’m gonna need one hand free to do that. Or put a long chain on the cuff, but—”

“Keep your mouth shut, Rogers. We have orders to restrain both of them while we take you to the meeting.”

Steve knows he should be focusing on what meeting they’re going to, but he feels sick watching the other two guards grab Bucky and haul him up from the bed. Bucky looks terrified but he’s doing his best not to move, letting the guards yank him this way and that as they slap the cuffs on his wrist and put chains on his waist and feet.

Steve can barely breathe, he’s so scared for Bucky. He wants to tell him that they’ll be fine. A meeting is probably good news. It probably means Natasha has done something to convince Ross to let them go.

But he can’t tell Bucky any of that. He knows Bucky has never allowed himself to believe that they’ll ever be freed, so his mind is probably coming up with nightmare scenarios of what Ross is going to do to them next.

After the guard has chained Steve’s feet together, he gives him a little shove towards the door. “Okay, let’s go, Rogers. Don’t touch Barnes and keep your eyes straight ahead.”

“Please—please let him walk slow. He’ll trip over things and hurt himself.”

“You just worry about yourself, Rogers. Let’s go.”

Steve steps out of the cell first, desperately hoping that Bucky will remember the presence of the doorway frame. He tries to discreetly peek over his shoulder as he starts down the hallway, but he feels the guard shove him in the back.

“Eyes front. I ain’t gonna tell you again.”

Thankfully, he hears Bucky’s slippers shuffling along the floor, moving slowly. He hears some fumbling, but it sounds like Bucky managed to get out of the cell without breaking his neck. Steve tries to slow his own pace, making each stride even shorter than his chained feet would allow, not wanting to put too much distance between himself and Bucky.

He desperately hopes at least one of the guards is considerate enough to hold onto Bucky so if he trips and falls, he won’t hit the ground too hard.

They shuffle down a hallway, then enter an elevator and go up two floors and shuffle down another hallway before Steve’s told to stop by a specific door. Steve’s guard swipes his ID in a scanner by the door and shoves the door open.

“Inside, Rogers.”

Steve steps in and he’s directed to sit in one of the chairs surrounding a large table. Once he’s sitting, his guard cuffs his feet to attachments on the floor.

“If you’re gonna restrain both my hands, I ain’t gonna be able to interpret for Barnes. He won’t have a clue what any of you are saying.” His voice sounds so strange to his own ears. It’s only been 11 days, but it feels like it’s been 11 years since he’d last spoken out-loud.

“I can’t leave both of your hands free.”

“I ain’t need both hands. Let Barnes sit on my left side and leave my left hand with enough room so I can communicate with Barnes. We can keep our hands on the table so you can see what we’re doing, but I need access to his entire hand.”

Letting out an annoyed sigh, the guard gestures for Bucky to be brought to the chair on Steve’s left side. Bucky stiffens as soon as his slippers bump into the chair legs, but before he’s allowed to get his bearings or figure out that this is a chair, the guards grab him and force him down onto the chair.

Steve sees Bucky’s eyes widen with fear as he’s forced down into—what he thinks—is nothing but empty space. His body impacts the chair hard, not having expected it. He’s pale and scared and Steve wants to touch him so badly that it’s physically painful.

Bucky doesn’t deserve this. Neither of them deserve this. They haven’t deserved any of this mess. But hopefully, Natasha will show up soon and they’ll be going home within a few hours.

The guards move Bucky’s chains and leave his hand with enough slack that he can put it on the table. As soon as Bucky’s secured, Steve glances at his guard. “Can I tell him where we are? He has no idea what’s going on.”

“Tell him General Ross will be here soon and you’re going to discuss your detainment.”

That sounds like great news! Steve gently grabs Bucky’s hand.

Bucky tenses but doesn’t move, tolerating the contact. Bucky’s fingers discreetly rub Steve’s wrist, probably subconsciously looking for the leather bracelet. There’s nothing for him to find, but hopefully Steve will have the leather bracelets back on his wrists in a few hours.

He quickly spells out his name and sees Bucky slump in relief and close his eyes.

Bucky flips their hands around and tells Steve he was so worried over where they’d taken Steve. He was worried they were moving them to new, separate cells.

Steve rubs his hand. He tells Bucky he won’t ever let that happen. Natasha will show up soon and then Ross will tell them that they’re free to go home.

Bucky frowns. He wants to know how Steve knows that. Did the guards say that will happen?

Well, no. But Steve tells him they’re in a meeting room and Ross will be here soon, and Steve has a good feeling about this.

Bucky’s shoulders slump. He tells Steve that _he_ doesn’t have a good feeling about this.

Steve gently jostles Bucky’s hand. ‘Please don’t give up. Please, please, please.’

Bucky sighs softly but doesn’t reply.

Before Steve can continue arguing, the door opens. Steve glances up, hoping to see Natasha, but it’s General Ross. Struggling not to let his distaste show on his face, Steve mentally prepares himself for interpreting duties. He tells Bucky that Ross is here, which makes Bucky’s eyes widen with a hint of fear and sit up straighter.

“Mr. Rogers. I’m sure you can appreciate that my time is precious and limited, so we’re going to keep this brief. I want to know what other communication methods you’ve been teaching Barnes.”

Steve opens his mouth to reply, but then he realizes this isn’t how it’s supposed to go. Why would Steve answer questions that Bucky can answer for himself? And Steve’s here as Bucky’s interpreter. Technically, he’s not even officially detained.

“If you want Barnes to answer your questions, you need to speak to him, General.”

Ross glares at him. “I’m not in the mood for your stupid games. Tell me what I want to know or this meeting is over.”

“You need to speak to Barnes, not me, General. I’m his interpreter, that’s all.” He knows he’s taking a risk with his attitude, but he’s sure Natasha will be here soon and he refuses to allow Ross to ignore Bucky’s presence just because he can’t hear or see him.

Ross stares at Steve, and Steve stares right back. He keeps his gaze neutral but steady. “If you direct your questions at Barnes, then I’ll interpret for you and he can provide the answers you need.”

“Ask him what other communication methods he’s learned.”

Well, that’s a start. Steve dutifully tells Bucky what’s going on and what Ross wants to know. He knows Bucky will give the right answer.

“Just braille, sir. Steve and I communicate with our made-up language and I haven’t learned anything else.”

Steve mentally congratulates Bucky on providing a good answer. He also realizes he got distracted from hearing Bucky’s voice. He’d sounded just as rough and strange as Steve’s own voice had. Jesus, he’s missed hearing Bucky’s voice!

Apparently satisfied with that response, Ross opens a folder he’d dropped on the table earlier and takes out a thick package of papers. He slides it across the desk to Steve.

“That’s a new contract. Barnes will sign it and then you’ll both be free to go.”

It’s on the tip of Steve’s tongue to tells Ross to direct his statements to Bucky, not Steve, but he decides to focus on what’s truly important. He grabs the contract and pulls it closer. Flipping it open, he tells Bucky that Ross has handed him a new contract and Steve will tell him what it says.

As soon as Steve gets to the terms and conditions, his heart starts to sink. It’s…it’s not good news. It’s not good news at all.

Bucky will be released from detainment, but that’s where the positives end.

Bucky will be put on a ‘terrorist watch list’ for life, meaning he’ll be constantly monitored and will only ever be allowed to travel within a four block radius of their apartment. That means he could get to Garland’s Groceries, but nowhere else. He couldn’t even visit the park by the East River. He’ll be limited to two outdoor excursions per month—and Steve notes that those ‘outdoor excursions’ include any area that’s not their apartment, meaning the hallway and the balcony count as the ‘outdoors’—and he’ll need a SHIELD armed escort accompanying him on his excursions, which means he’ll have to request permission for the excursion at least 72 hours beforehand.

He’ll be under 24 hour video and audio surveillance in the entire apartment and he has to agree to more frequent random testing. In addition, Bucky has to agree that he won’t access any braille material and he won’t make any attempt to learn new communication methods, including braille. Bucky will also agree to stop using the ‘customized sign language’ which he utilizes for day-to-day communication and he will only be permitted to ask yes/no questions, which will be answered by pre-determined signals which SHIELD will create.

Every activity he does will have to be approved by SHIELD and the only people who will be permitted physical contact with him will be ones who SHIELD has approved of. Anybody wishing to visit their apartment and initiate contact with Bucky will have to apply for approval, which will take minimum 3 weeks.

Steve thinks he’s going to throw up.

This—this isn’t an option. What’s described on these pages isn’t a life. Bucky can’t get any enjoyment from visual or auditory things, so restricting his ability to go to different places and controlling what he’s allowed to touch or feel to such a degree would make his life very bleak.

The pool is outside of the four block radius so they wouldn’t be allowed to go swimming at all and they’d never be allowed to visit the beach or Natasha’s Russian restaurant. Leon would have to apply 3 weeks in advance to visit Bucky for therapy sessions—if SHIELD even permits Leon to visit them. Natasha would also have to apply 3 weeks in advance and with her unpredictable schedule, that would make it even harder for her to see them.

Bucky couldn’t go to the yarn store to buy wool for his shop, and he wouldn’t be allowed to visit the hardware store to buy sandpaper and enjoy the many different things in the shop. He wouldn’t be allowed to sit out on the balcony whenever he wants, he wouldn’t be allowed to take the train ever again or visit Niloufar at their favourite restaurant, since that’s outside of the four block radius too. Even if they get permission to go to Garland’s Groceries or other places that are within the radius, Bucky wouldn’t be permitted to speak to anybody when he’s there.

Watching baseball or TV together or just chatting about things will be impossible if Bucky can only ask yes/no questions. Steve remembers what those early days were like when they could barely communicate with each other and even then, they were able to communicate with more than yes/no signals. They wouldn’t be able to have normal conversations.

Bucky’s face falls the more Steve interprets, but when Steve tells him he’s done going through the contract, Bucky immediately tells him to give him a pen and help him sign in the right spot.

“What?!” Steve is so shocked that he forgets to stay non-verbal. He gives Bucky’s hand a hard shake.

He tells Bucky that he won’t let him sign this. There’s no way that Natasha would allow—

Bucky smacks Steve’s hand hard and glares at the tabletop. He tells him that obviously, Natasha isn’t here. Whatever she tried to do didn’t work and this is their only hope for getting out of detainment. He doesn’t want them spending the rest of their lives in a cell, and if this contract will get them back home, then he’ll take it. The contract doesn’t say anything about him not being allowed to have Maggie, and he’ll just have to get more creative and come up with ways to keep busy which—

Steve rubs Bucky’s hand hard. He’s not going to give in this easily. They—

“Rogers, this is a one-time offer and it’ll expire in 5 minutes. If Barnes hasn’t signed it by then, you’ll both stay in permanent detainment.”

At Ross’ words, a thought suddenly occurs to Steve. Something feels off about the contract. It’s not Ross’ impatience that’s strange, but it’s the contract itself. He ignores both Ross and Bucky and thinks.

Ross has always made it clear that he considers Bucky a big threat. The best way to keep a threat controlled is to keep it as secure as possible. In Ross’ eyes, Bucky is most secure in detainment. If he’s let out into society, even with strict controls in place, Bucky will have more freedom and more chances to trigger himself.

Why would Ross offer such a contract? Steve thought Ross would be fighting to keep Bucky detained and they’d have to convince him to offer Bucky a new contract. But Ross is the one offering Bucky freedom for no reason. Well, limited freedom, but still freedom. And that makes Steve think there’s more at play here.

The only reason Ross would offer such a contract is either because he’s scared, or he’s being pressured into it. And that’s very good news, because it tells Steve that whatever Natasha’s doing, it’s working.

Slowly, but it’s working.

The more Steve thinks about it, the more he realizes this must be a desperate attempt by Ross to keep control of the situation. Now Steve is even more certain that they shouldn’t sign it. He tells Bucky his suspicions and excitedly jostles his hand and tells him all they have to do is wait, and Natasha will fix this whole thing.

Bucky looks doubtful and he shakes his head. He wants to sign the contract so they can go home. He doesn’t care what restrictions he has to live with, but he—

Steve flips their hands around. _He_ cares about the restrictions. He won’t allow Bucky to condemn himself to such a life, seeing how he’s never done anything wrong and these restrictions aren’t necessary to keep him from being a threat to the public. Him being deafblind already makes it impossible for him to be triggered. The rest of these restrictions are just malicious attempts by Ross to keep Bucky under control.

Bucky’s face hardens and he demands to know if Steve will physically prevent him from signing the contract.

Gaping at Bucky, Steve’s fingers freeze. He realizes that Bucky has a point. Obviously, that’s not something Steve has a right to do. If Bucky wants to sign…

But no, Barnes is just trying to trick him into being okay with the contract, which isn’t going to happen. He tells Bucky that he doesn’t believe this is Bucky’s last chance, no matter what Ross says. He knows Natasha will help them. This contract is evidence of that! All they have to do is be patient and not give up hope.

Bucky’s jaw shifts and his fingers stay motionless.

‘Please, Buck.’

“30 seconds left, Rogers. Then the contract goes away.”

Steve stares at Bucky. He tells him he has 30 seconds left to either sign the contract or be taken back to the cell.

Bucky squeezes his eyes closed and his jaw is clenched. Then his fingers start flying over Steve’s palm. ‘You believe Nat will help us?’

‘100 percent.’ Steve repeats it two more times for emphasis. The small amount of doubt left after the muffin message has now disappeared with this contract.

‘This might be our only chance, Rogers. Our only chance to get out of here. You want me to throw that away?’

‘Please. Please don’t give up hope, Buck.’

“10 seconds, Rogers.”

Steve tells Bucky he’s got 10 seconds left. He stares at him imploringly, desperately hoping that Bucky will trust him and call Ross’ bluff.

He sees Bucky mouth ‘Jesus Christ’, then he’s sitting up from his slouch. He feels the surface of the table, finds the contract and shoves it away from him. “I’m not signing this, General. I’m refusing.”

Steve tries to be discreet as he stares at Ross. He sees the man clench his jaw and a muscle twitches under his eye, clear signs that he’s angry.

Good. That confirms Steve’s suspicions even more. This contract was important to Ross and the contract is the opposite of what Ross should want, so clearly, Natasha’s plan is working. All he and Bucky have to do is be patient.

Steve happily squeezes Bucky’s hand. Bucky doesn’t respond, still looking doubtful and annoyed at the entire situation.

“Alright, this meeting is over. Guards, take them to their cells.”

Their guards step forward and undo the restraints keeping their feet immobile and re-adjust the cuffs and chains. Following his guards’ orders, Steve steps out of the room and starts the journey back to their cell. He slows his pace as much as he dares and carefully listens to Bucky’s shuffling behind him, hoping Bucky will stay focused enough to not get himself hurt as he shuffles along.

When Steve reaches their cell, he’s about to step over the doorframe, when the guard grabs his arm and yanks him back. “No, Rogers. Wrong cell.”

Steve frowns. “Uh, no…this is our cell.”

“You’ve both been re-assigned to new cells. The General’s orders.”

Okay, that’s…unexpected, but that’s alright. Steve is sad to lose their stack of wrappers, but they’ll make a new pile. The guard points further down the hallway, so Steve shuffles past their old cell and waits to be told where to stop.

That’s when he hears that Bucky’s shuffling has stopped. When Steve discreetly glances over his shoulder, he sees that Bucky is stopped in front of a random open cell door. When he sees a guard giving Bucky a shove towards the door, Steve realizes his idiot guard doesn’t know where he’s supposed to be taking Steve, so he stops and turns around—

But his guard grabs his arm and yanks him forward. “Keep going, Rogers. Your cell’s down this way.”

Steve frowns. “Don’t be dumb. I need to stay with Barnes. I’m his interpreter.”

“Barnes no longer needs an interpreter, since he won’t be having any more meetings with anybody. And you’re an accomplice to a known terrorist. We don’t allow criminals to stay in the same cell.”

Steve’s temper flares to life and he rounds on the guard. “Criminals?! We haven’t even been charged with anything! You’re all morons who are too scared to tell that idiot Ross to go jump off a cliff!”

His guard gives a signal, and immediately all the guards in the hallway pull out guns and train them on Bucky, who’s slowly stepping over the doorframe of his new cell. Steve can see him frowning in concentration, completely focused on the doorframe and oblivious to what’s going on around him.

Steve realizes with a sickening lurch that they might actually shoot Bucky. They might actually kill him right here, right now. His heart leaps into his throat and he snaps his mouth shut.

“You gonna behave, Rogers?”

Steve nods frantically, dread twisting his stomach into knots. “Yes—” He’s so scared that his voice is barely above a whisper. “—just please, please put down the guns. _Please_.”

“We have orders to shoot Barnes if you don’t cooperate.”

“I’ll cooperate. I’ll—I’ll cooperate, I promise.”

His guard gestures down the hallway. “Then get going. Your cell’s down that way.”

That’s when Steve realizes that this is it. If he was wrong and Natasha can’t help them, then this will be the last time he ever sees Bucky. And he doesn’t even get to say goodbye.

What’s much worse is that Bucky has no idea Steve isn’t already in the cell with him.

“Can I—can I please explain to him that we’re being split up? Please?”

“He’s not an idiot, Rogers. He’ll figure it out. Move.”

A feeling of numbness spreads through Steve. This can’t be happening.

This can’t be happening.

He forces his feet to keep moving until the guard tells him he’s at the right door. His feet feel like they weigh a thousand pounds each as he steps over the doorframe and into the cell. His guard removes the cuffs and chains from him and steps out of the cell.

Steve’s feet automatically walk him over to the bed and he sits down heavily next to the pile of fresh linens, numbly listening to the door slamming shut, the bars securing themselves and the force field flickering on.

If he miscalculated—if his faith in Natasha was misplaced—then this will be the rest of their lives.

Separated and alone in their own, small cells.

For the rest of their lives.


	89. Chapter 89

Once his cuffs and chains are removed and Bucky’s found the table in the cell, he’s happy to discover that he remembers exactly where everything is. Good job, Barnes.

Finding his way to the bed, he reaches out, looking for Rogers, but he doesn’t feel Steve.

Maybe Rogers had to pee or he went to wash his hands? Or maybe he’s discussing getting lunch with the guards? Bucky realizes he’s starving, and it’s no wonder. They were taken out of their cell before breakfast and it’s been a few hours since then.

Well, Bucky’s stomach seems to think it’s been a few hours, but he doesn’t really know for sure. When Rogers gets back from wherever he is, Bucky will ask him what time it is. Sitting on the bed, he slouches against the wall and drops his hand onto the mattress to pick at the bedsheet…

…and that’s when he realizes something isn’t right. The mattress doesn’t have any sheets on it.

He knows they never take the sheet off unless it’s laundry day. Did the guards clean their cell while they were gone??

Opening his mouth to ask Steve to check on their muffin wrappers and fruit cups, he remembers at the last second that they’re back to their ‘no voicing’ rule and snaps his mouth shut. Pushing himself off the bed, he hurries to the table and feels the surface, where they usually keep the two stacks.

There’s nothing.

Damn it! The guards must have thrown them out when they cleaned the cell. Shit! They’ll have to re-start their collection.

That reminds him that lunch should be served soon, so he should wash his hand first. He heads to the sink and feels the wall for the ‘hot’ button…

…and that’s when he feels something else strange. There’s usually a small chip in the tile that’s right next to the ‘hot’ button, but this tile is smooth. Bucky checks the tiles above and below it, but they’re all smooth. And he knows— _he knows_ —that the tile should have that chip in it. He’s touched it hundreds of times.

There’s only one explanation. This isn’t their old cell. In fact, when he sniffs the air around him, he realizes it smells differently. There’s the faint scent of sewage from the open toilet, which is normal, but there are two particular scents that are missing: the scent of wet clothes drying—which had lingered from the last day they’d done laundry—and the unique scent that came from Steve and himself living in such a small space together.

Bucky realizes he hadn’t paid much attention to the scents in the cell before. Steve had been his eyes and ears, so Bucky hadn’t needed to rely on his other senses as much. He should have noticed the change in the scent when he’d entered he cell. It annoys him that he hadn’t done that. He might have realized he was in a new cell earlier!

Well, that’s not the end of the world. Thankfully, the layout appears to be identical to their old cell, so Bucky will be able to get around easily.

He makes a mental note to pay closer attention to the scents around him, but he doesn’t allow himself to get upset over how long it took him to realize what happened. At least he noticed before Steve told him.

Speaking of who—where is that punk? Since Bucky’s standing by the sink, and the toilet is right next to him, he should be able to feel Steve standing there. So maybe Steve is arguing with the guards over lunch?

But it shouldn’t be taking this long.

Worry starts to gnaw at him. Maybe Steve fell and hurt himself? Maybe he’s unconscious on the floor somewhere?!

Bucky’s first instinct is to rush around the cell and look for Steve, but he catches himself and sternly reminds himself that he has to search methodically or he might end up missing Steve entirely or hurting himself too. He starts at the sink and the toilet. Crouching down, he sweeps the floor below the sink and around the toilet with his hand. On his knees, he shuffles towards the shower, moving his hand over the floor and stopping occasionally to sweep the area around his head to make sure he doesn’t bump his head into something if he misjudges where he is.

He feels the entire shower area, finding both corners of the cell, but no Steve. He makes his way back towards the sink, toilet and bed, and focuses on the bed side of the cell. He explores the entire floor area underneath the bed—Steve couldn’t fit under there anyway, but Bucky’s being thorough—and then he finally smacks his hand into the chair legs. He searches under the table, chair and then explores the chair and table. Nothing. He finishes his sweeping by feeling the rest of the floor.

When he gets close to the door, he moves slowly and keeps his hand outstretched, trying to find the force field with his hand before his face finds it. He sniffs the air and tries to feel where the electric field is, but he knows it won’t activate until he’s in range.

Shuffling closer to the door a few inches at a time with his hand stretched out, he finally feels electricity gently zapping the tips of his fingers and there’s a faint smell of electricity in the air. Deciding that Steve couldn’t be any closer to the force field than this, he carefully explores the other two corners of the cell and the floor in front of the door, ignoring the tingling of the electricity on his hand whenever he gets too close to the force field.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t find Steve.

Okay, this definitely means that Rogers isn’t in the cell. Unless—

“Rogers, if you’re in here and you’re playing a stupid game, then stop it. I’m tired and hungry and I ain’t in the mood. If you’ve been jumping around the furniture, avoiding my hands, then good for you. Yay—you win. Now quit it and come here.”

He stays where he is, kneeling on the floor by the door, waiting.

Nothing.

After giving Steve more than enough time to get his stupid butt over to the door, Bucky finally accepts that Steve isn’t in the cell with him.

That’s fine. Maybe Ross wanted to meet with him separately? It would have been nice for the guards to allow Steve to tell Bucky about it, but he’s figured it out. It just took him a while longer.

Going back to the bed, Bucky sits down to wait. Hopefully Steve won’t take too long.

*             *             *

Predictably, Steve’s fear and anxiety quickly turn to anger. This isn’t fair! Of course, none of this is fair, but not allowing him to stay with Bucky is the limit!

Bucky isn’t a threat to anybody and that moron Ross is just being vindictive or stupid, or both!

It occurs to him that it’ll take Bucky a while to realize that Steve isn’t in the cell with him. How long will it take him to figure out that Steve isn’t coming back?

Bucky may forget that he has to get the meal trays from the door—what if he forgets to pick it up, and the guards take the full tray away after a while?! Bucky won’t have any idea what time or day it is. If he gets his meals confused, he’ll end up losing track of time completely.

And he won’t be able to sleep properly without Steve blocking access from the door! He won’t be able to turn his brain off, and he’ll constantly fear somebody coming into the cell without him knowing.

And what will Bucky do to keep his brain stimulated and healthy? Many of their games were only fun because they played together. And Bucky will have to start his muffin wrapper and fruit cup collection all over again! He can’t use the e-reader, he can’t make sounds to amuse himself and if he’s too scared to move around freely then he might not exercise.

Fear squeezes Steve’s throat closed and he struggles to breathe. He realizes how bad this situation is.

This might be a death sentence for Bucky.

He’s heard of extreme sensory deprivation being used as a torture tactic by the military with great success. Most people broke within hours or a few days. Due to Bucky’s disabilities, he’s already dealing with high levels of sensory deprivation. With the added limitations of being in a bare cell with no companionship…

Steve squeezes his eyes shut and wills himself to keep breathing. This isn’t fair. This isn’t fair!

And fuck his ma’s stupid phrase about accepting things because ‘wanting things and getting things are two different things.’ Wanting Bucky to not be tortured isn’t an outlandish, difficult demand to make of the universe!

Just then, he hears the metal slot in the bottom of the door opening and his lunch tray is slid through.

Rage runs through him when he’s reminded that Bucky probably won’t get his lunch, because he won’t realize it’s there.

Glaring at the tray, he strides towards it and gives it a kick that sends it flying back through the open slot that the guard hadn’t closed yet. Steve hears the guard let out a surprised yell and a “What the fuck?!”.

Unsurprisingly, the little kick wasn’t enough to sooth the rage, so Steve turns around and glares around his cell, trying to pick a target he can take his anger out on.

Then a disembodied voice comes over the speaker in the ceiling of the cell. Steve recognized General Ross’ voice. “Mr. Rogers. Thanks to your behavior, Mr. Barnes will not be receiving his lunch portion today. If you insist on damaging your cell, not only will the damage not be fixed, but every item you break will be another meal that Mr. Barnes will not be receiving.”

The fear comes rushing back and the rage immediately disappears. “No—please…I…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t—please, don’t take it out on Buck. Please!”

“As I explained, you cost Mr. Barnes his lunch today. You have only yourself to blame. As for Mr. Barnes’ future meals—that’s entirely in your hands. Control yourself, Mr. Rogers.”

Shoulders slumping, Steve wanders numbly over the bed and sits down with a heavy thud. He realizes he’s really damn hungry and that makes him realize how hungry Bucky must be too.

And he won’t be getting anything until dinnertime, which means both of them will have gone 24 hours without any food. And it’s all Steve’s fault.

Pressing his hands against his face, Steve struggles to keep his tears at bay. “I’m sorry, Buck. I’m so sorry. I won’t do it again. Please be okay. Please.”

*             *             *

Boredom settles in pretty quickly while he’s waiting for Steve to return. He has no idea how much time passes, but after waiting what he’s sure is at least an hour, he decides to be useful and make the bed. Predictably, it takes forever and when Steve still isn’t back by the time he’s done, he’s starting to get annoyed.

And hungry. His stomach is twisting and complaining from the lack of food. It has to be lunch by now. Steve’s gonna miss lunch if he doesn’t get back to the cell soon.

Bucky amuses himself by pinches the bedsheet into lines and tracking them. That gets boring after a while, so he gets up to do some exercise. He must have stood up too quickly—or the lack of food is starting to take its toll—because he gets dizzy and has to drop back onto the mattress.

After waiting a few minutes for the light-headedness to fade, he decides to try again, but slower this time. And forget about exercising. He’d probably pass out. He needs water and hopefully he’ll get lunch soon. Finding his way to the sink, he drinks water and heads back to the bed to keep waiting.

*             *             *

Liam makes a face as he stares at the monitor showing Barnes’ cell. Despite the General’s words to Rogers, they hadn’t received an order not to give Barnes his lunch and the General had left their office before Corporal Sanchez finished distributing the lunch trays, so Barnes had been included in the normal rounds. Liam figures that Rogers won’t know whether or not Barnes gets his food, so the lie is probably sufficient to get him to behave.

Barnes’ lunch tray had been delivered an hour ago and it’s been sitting just inside the cell door. Normal procedure. What’s not normal is that Barnes hasn’t realized that lunch was delivered and he’s made no attempts to go to the door to get his food.

Looking at another monitor, Liam sees Sanchez bringing the tray trolley down the hallway, slowly collecting everybody’s trays. When he gets to Barnes’, he’ll pick up the full tray and take it away. Those are the rules.

“It ain’t fair, is it? He don’t even know the tray’s there,” Ryan says, staring at Barnes’ monitor.

Liam sighs. “The General said no special treatment.”

Ryan snorts. “That wouldn’t be special treatment. Not in my eyes.” Probably deciding he doesn’t want to watch Barnes’ full tray being taken away, Ryan pulls his phone out and keeps his eyes glued to that.

Liam thinks he’ll tough it out, but when Sanchez picks up Barnes’ full tray of food and puts it on his trolley, Liam’s eyes end up flicking away.

*             *             *

The hours continue going by. Eventually, Bucky starts feeling cold due to hunger and bundles himself up in the blanket. He feels dizzy and a bit nauseous too. Getting sick from hunger is a feeling he hasn’t felt in a very long time and it’s just as unwelcome now as it was back in the 30s.

He’s starting to get an absolutely awful feeling in his gut, and it’s not just from hunger. What if Steve isn’t at a meeting? There’s no reason for Ross to be talking to Steve this long without Steve demanding that Bucky be included. Steve’s always been sensitive about things like that and while Bucky sometimes doesn’t mind if Steve stays in control of things, this is something he’d like to be part of.

As more time passes, the less sure Bucky is about this meeting idea.

But that leaves only two options. Option 1: Steve was released and sent home. While that would be what’s best for Steve in the long run, Bucky can’t imagine that he’d go quietly. His heart aches at the thought of never seeing Steve again, but at least he’ll be free and with Maggie. Maybe one day, Steve will be granted visitation rights. At least Bucky can cling to the idea of Steve being free to help brighten his days.

But then there’s option 2: they’ve been put into separate cells. Since Steve technically did help him learn braille, Bucky can imagine how Ross could have twisted the situation to justify splitting them up and keeping Steve locked up.

That thought fills him with dread. Steve can’t spend the rest of his life in a cell! Not if he didn’t do anything! At least Bucky is partially at fault. He did want to learn braille and if that’s really enough to violate his contract, then he did it and he’ll live with the consequences. While Steve did help Bucky learn braille, he only did it to help him because Bucky’s the idiot who decided to have the surgery in the first place!

And now, Bucky’s back where he started—in permanent solitary confinement—but now he got Steve locked up too. He cost Steve his freedom!

His throat tightens and he doesn’t know whether to punch himself or cry. How could he have been so stupid?! How could he have been so selfish that he never considered how his actions would impact Steve? And now Steve is paying a horrible price for Bucky’s selfishness.

Even though Bucky doesn’t really know if option 2 is their reality, it’s such a horrible thought that it doesn’t leave room for the small hope that option 1 had lit.

He’s a horrible, selfish human being who’s the reason Steve has to suffer in a cell for the rest of his life. How can he possibly live with himself?

The guilt and despair are so overwhelming that they keep him glued to the bed, thoughts racing in his mind. He’s so focused on his thoughts that he barely moves. Eventually his bladder complains enough that he has to get up to go to the toilet.

The sudden movement after hours of inactivity and lack of food aren’t welcome by his body. He feels another wave of dizziness and his legs barely support him when he gets up. He realizes he’s suddenly hungry again. The hunger had faded for a while, but now it’s back with a vengeance.

When the hell is lunch being delivered? He doesn’t know what time it is, but he knows their meeting with Ross took place right before breakfast, so lunch should have been served a while ago.

Slowly finding his way to the toilet, Bucky takes care of business and drinks some water. He doesn’t understand why he’s so damn hungry if he’s only missed breakfast.

*             *             *

Both Liam and Ryan are glued to Barnes’ monitor after Sanchez has delivered his dinner tray, hoping Barnes will get up and eat.

Liam knows they’re both being dumb. It doesn’t matter how many mental thoughts they send Barnes’ way—the man has to physically go to the door and pick up his meal tray in order to eat. Unfortunately, it hasn’t occurred to Barnes yet that Rogers isn’t there to get the tray for him.

The only interaction they’re allowed to make with the detainees is to use the speakers in the cell to give them orders, but that’s useless for Barnes. The only time they’re allowed to enter the cell without a direct order is for a medical emergency.

“We could give the tray a push and send it close to his feet,” Ryan mumbles.

Liam sighs. “That’s against the rules and we’ll get in trouble.”

Ryan turns his head and gives him an unreadable look. “So we’re just gonna sit here and watch him starve to death?”

Liam stares back, thinking. “No. First of all, if Barnes gets weaker, then we can intervene because it’ll be a medical emergency. Second, Barnes isn’t an idiot. He’s gonna notice he’s missing meals and then he’ll realize he’s gotta be closer to the door to feel the tray. He’s gonna figure it out.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then we can help him once it’s a medical emergency. Until then, we have our orders.”

*             *             *

The lack of food has brought on a pounding headache, which makes Bucky feel even worse. He’s lying on the bed, wrapped up in the blanket and trying to keep his thoughts from focusing on how hungry he is or his guilt over Steve being just as hungry in his own cell.

He thinks about what Steve has been doing so far. He’s probably still in the anger-stage. Whenever things don’t go his way, that temper which he’d inherited from Mrs. R always gets the best of him. He probably yelled and kicked at the chair or the bed. Bucky hopes the idiot didn’t break anything. He knows acts of vandalism only result in the destroyed object being taken away, not fixed.

Maybe Rogers has calmed down by now. Maybe his hunger has distracted him too.

Bucky can picture it so well. The punk slowly calming down, then sitting on the bed to wait for food, just like Bucky is. Once the food is delivered, Rogers will get up and get the—

Wait a minute.

A horrible realization shoots through him and he sits up with a jerk. It turns out that he sat up way too quickly because he feels a wave of nausea crawl up his throat, but he takes a few deep breaths and wills himself to focus.

He’s an idiot! He knows nobody ever enters the cell. He knows the trays are always slid through the slot at the bottom of the door. He also knows that trays are left inside the doors for an hour before being taken away, regardless of how much a prisoner ate or not.

He’s an idiot! He’s been sitting here, on the fucking bed—which is several feet away from the stupid door! Jesus Christ, Barnes!

Feeling desperate but also hopeful, he kicks the blanket off himself, scrambles up from the bed, and hurries to the door. He’s hurrying so quickly that he forgets to keep his hand up and only realizes his mistake when a wall of electricity slams into him, sending a shock of pain through him and dropping him to the ground hard.

Gasping for breath, he blinks and struggles to breathe as his body stays seized up from the impact of the electricity. Slowly, he manages to draw in a breath of electricity tinged air and wiggles his fingers. That’s progress.

It takes several minutes until his body recovers from the shock and while he recovers, he gets even more upset with himself. He’s in pain, he feels even more nauseous than he did before, and that was a completely avoidable mistake.

Damn it, Barnes! You can do better than this! Jesus!

With a groan, he rolls onto his front but doesn’t try to stand up yet. Slowly, he feels around the floor, hoping to encounter the lunch tray without zapping himself again.

But there’s nothing.

That small bit of hope he had fades and he feels the urge to cry. He’s so damn hungry!

He’s gone longer than this between meals, but he’s been spoiled lately with an unlimited access to food. His body is out of practice.

Lowering his head to the floor and pressing his forehead against the cool tiles, he decides to stay there until the pain and sick feeling have passed. Besides, he’s in a good position—he needs to stay close to the door anyway if he doesn’t want to miss the next tray.

*             *             *

Boredom, hunger and the fact that he still feels sick make him sleepy enough to doze off right where he is—on the floor. He keeps waking himself up and checking to make sure he didn’t miss the tray. When he gets the urge to start crying at how miserable he feels, he always sternly reminds himself that this is all his fault and dinner will be served eventually.

He just has to be patient, pay attention and not fall asleep.

*             *             *

Dinner doesn’t come. He has no idea what time it is or how long he’s been in his cell. There are no other indicators he can use to tell him how much time has passed.

Maybe he missed the dinner tray too? That means he won’t get food until breakfast.

That thought makes tears well up in his eyes, but he pushes them down. This is all his fault and he’s not a child. He can figure this out. He doesn’t need Steve to feed him!

His headache still hasn’t gotten any better, so he gets up, goes to the sink for water and then hurries back to the door, frantically feeling the floor. There’s nothing there.

It was a very stupid decision to allow himself to doze off like that. Now, he doesn’t even know if it’s day time or night time. If dinner has passed—which is a strong possibility—then it’s night time and he should be sleeping.

He knows he could probably sleep on the bed for a few hours without risking missing the breakfast tray. But is that really a good bet to take? He has no idea if it’s an hour to breakfast—he sure hopes is it—or seven hours, or maybe he missed the dinner tray by mere moments and it’s a lot earlier in the evening than he thinks?

He sits there on the floor, thinking it over. Unless he can do something that will wake him at a certain—and that’s when something else occurs to him.

Something he hadn’t even considered.

He’ll have no way of knowing if somebody comes into his cell! While he’s sleeping on the bed, guards could come in and do whatever they want and he wouldn’t know! They could sit on the chair and stare at him while he’s sleeping and he wouldn’t have any idea that he’s not alone! Or they could grab him and he’d probably have a heart attack from the shock.

Oh, this isn’t good. This isn’t good at all! He’d completely forgotten about this.

And just like that—the darkness around him loses its warmth and familiarity. It becomes cold and frightening, made thicker by the silence around him. All the progress he’s made over the last several months disappears and he’s right back to fearing the darkness like he did when he first came home from the hospital.

He’ll have no idea if anybody decides to enter his cell! In fact, there might be somebody in the cell with him right now and he wouldn’t know!

His earlier nausea comes back and fear clogs his throat as he realizes this is his new reality. He doesn’t have Steve to protect him or his motion sensor band. He’ll have to live with this fear for the rest of his life!

Chewing on his lip, he thinks it over. He has to fix this. He has to fix this right now. It’ll be impossible for him to sleep until he’s found a solution. And he’ll die if he doesn’t sleep. This has to be fixed! Come on, think, Barnes!

Finally, he realizes his solution to the meal problem can apply to his fear of intruders. He just has to stay close to the door, that’s all. He’ll be able to feel the meal trays and he’ll know if somebody comes in. Perfect. Getting up, he hurries to the bed and lugs the mattress over to the door. He makes sure there’s enough room between the mattress and the force field that the field won’t be triggered by it and make the mattress erupt into flames.

He gets his pillow and blanket and settles down on the mattress, leaning against the wall. Exhausted, hungry and still feeling sick, he feels ready to doze off right away. He’s far enough away from the force field that he doesn’t think he’ll accidentally slump into it.

But that’s when he realizes he’s making a big mistake. Again. The force field is undetectable when it’s not triggered, which means Bucky won’t know if somebody turns it off to enter the cell. In fact, the only way he’ll know if somebody decides to come in is if the bars come out of the floor and the door swings open.

Hopefully, he’ll be able to feel that happening because of vibrations in the floor. But he knows he won’t feel those vibrations through the mattress. It’s a thin mattress, but he doesn’t trust that he’ll feel the vibrations through it. So the mattress won’t work.

Sighing, he hurries to lug the mattress back to the bed and returns to his spot by the door. He puts the pillow behind him and tucks the blanket around his legs. The hard floor isn’t comfortable, but he’ll get used to it. It’s better than the alternative.

He’s still got adrenaline coursing through him and he can’t help but peer fearfully into the darkness around him and his ears are straining to pick up a sound—any sound—that will help reassure him that he’s truly alone. But no matter how hard his eyes and ears are trying, they can’t get him the information he needs to feel safe.

Due to his hunger and exhaustion from the entire day, he does doze off from time to time, but he always jerks himself awake and frantically feels the space by the door, searching for the meal tray.


	90. Chapter 90

Bucky’s so accustomed to touching the floor by the door and not feeling anything that it’s a shock when he reaches out and does feel the plastic tray. It scares him enough to make him yank his hand back at first, until his mind recovers enough to remind him that this is food. Food!

Grinning, Bucky pulls the tray over to himself and forces his shaking hand to stay calm and methodical as he explores the tray. He doesn’t want to risk spilling the juice. He’s so tired that he’s having trouble staying focused on what his hand is doing. Rather than risk damaging any of his precious food, he always withdraws his hand when he feels it getting very weak and waits for a new moment of strength before continuing.

He finds the muffin first. Exploring it, he makes a face when he realizes that Steve hasn’t halved it yet. Oh, well. The punk must be busy. Putting down the muffin, Bucky focuses on the toast—but that hasn’t been halved yet either. Glaring in the direction where the punk must be sitting, Bucky puts that aside too and decides to start with the ham.

Forcing himself not to eat too quickly and make himself sick, Bucky slowly eats his slice of ham and then peels one of the hard boiled eggs and eats that too. He drinks half the plastic-tasting juice and then focuses on the fruit in the cup.

Realizing that they can start their collection of new wrappers and cups today brings a smile to his face, despite how exhausted he is. He leaves the pineapple pieces for Rogers and finishes all the grapes. All the other fruit is counted and he eats half of each. When he’s done, he feels around the tray for the muffin, hoping that Rogers has gotten over his morning sluggishness enough to half it.

But it’s still whole. In fact, so is the toast.

In fact—they’re in the exact same position he’d put them down in before reaching for the ham. There’s something about this that’s not right.

Putting down the toast, he reaches across the tray, wanting to reassure himself that Rogers may be a bit slow today, but he’s still there.

But there’s nobody there.

That’s when reality slams back into him and he remembers that Steve isn’t here. Steve will never be here again. Steve is either in his own cell—because Bucky is a stupid, selfish moron—or he’s at home with Maggie.

A wave of grief washes over him and he suddenly misses Steve so fiercely that tears well up in his eyes. Pressing his lips together, he forces himself to stay focused despite the tears rolling down his cheeks. He only has limited time to finish breakfast and Steve would think he’s an idiot if he didn’t eat his half of the muffin and toast just because Steve isn’t here.

He manages to remove the wrapper from the muffin, splits the muffin and toast in half and eats his halves. When he’s done, he pushes the tray back to the door, hoping he lined it up right.

Then he pulls his knees up, presses his face against them and sobs, missing Steve so fiercely that his body aches.

*             *             *

The tears haven’t completely stopped before he’s fallen asleep. He keeps coming out of his doze from time to time to check for the tray, but he knows he has a few hours before lunch. He has to pee, but he’s feeling numb and missing Steve and he doesn’t want to move through the stupid, scary darkness.

He still feels sick and weak, but when he feels the lunch tray, he carefully splits up lunch without having to remind himself that Steve isn’t there to do it for him.

It isn’t until after the lunch tray has disappeared that he realizes he’s being an idiot again! Why is he only eating half the food?! And he didn’t remember to keep the muffin wrapper or the fruit cup!

He’s such a moron! He’s selfish and he’s stupid! How did Steve ever put up with this?!

He’s so upset with himself that he nearly starts crying again, but he hates the idea of the guards having even more reason to laugh at him. Instead, he realizes he needs to take advantage of the few hours of time he has before he has to check periodically for the dinner tray.

Forcing himself not to think about the stupid darkness around him, he brings up the mental image of the cell layout and heads for the toilet. He uses the toilet, washes his hand and face, brushes his teeth and tries doing some exercises. But the second he lies down on the floor to do sit-ups, he gets overwhelmed again by the fear that he won’t know if anybody comes in. And being by the sink is one thing—being flat on the floor is a very stupid position to be in.

So he decides he can live without exercising. He knows that’s not good, but he doesn’t see a good alternative right now. Heading back to the door, he sits down and leans back against the wall. He’s just dozing off for a nap, when the floor beneath him starts gently vibrating.

For a second, he doesn’t remember what that means, so he just sits there, blinking and frowning—before he remembers exactly what that means and sits up with a jerk. He’s about to stand up when he remembers not to move, but braces himself to feel the guards grabbing him.

Sure enough, strange hands suddenly grab him and haul him into a standing position. Cuffs and chains are put on him—despite Bucky being too weak to do anything that would be a threat to anybody. He waits until one of the guards grabs his arm and yanks him forward. That’s his cue to start slowly shuffling until he finds the doorframe with the tip of his slippers.

Stepping over it, he slowly shuffles along, hoping that the guard holding onto him will be able to catch him if he trips over something. Although it doesn’t matter to him if he breaks his neck, he knows that would devastate Steve.

He shuffles along, sometimes being pulled in a different directions, sometimes being yanked to a stop and then being yanked to keep shuffling again. Eventually, he has multiple hands on him and he’s being yanked backwards and down—which is always a heart-stopping feeling—until his butt encounters a solid surface and he realizes he’s in a chair. It always brings his heart up into his throat and the fear is so overwhelming that he’s barely aware of his feet being chained to the floor and his hand being put onto the surface of a table.

He really wishes these people would make a sign for ‘chair’ and do him the courtesy of telling him before yanking him down onto it.

But that’s when he realizes that this is a strange occurrence. Why is he in another meeting so soon after the last one? Ross had said the other contract was a one-time offer. Did he change his mind?

Or maybe…maybe this is Natasha’s doing?

No, don’t be stupid Barnes. He refuses to let himself entertain that silly hope that Rogers had fixated on. This isn’t something Romanov can fix.

He waits patiently, bracing himself for the feel of more hands. To his surprise, he feels his hand being lifted and then placed on top of paper. Moving his fingers carefully, he explores the surface, wondering how much exploring he’s allowed to do. When nobody stops him, he investigates the paper to figure out what they gave him. Are they going to make him read braille? He doesn’t know if he can do it under such conditions—and he should probably pretend he can’t do it anyway. That would be smart.

But the paper’s completely smooth. There are many sheets of paper and he riffles through them. They’re all the same size and he can feel very faint lines on some of them, but nothing’s in any form that he can read.

Then his hand is roughly grabbed and put onto a cool, smooth surface. Frowning, Bucky explores the surface. It feels familiar but it’s not until he encounters plastic shapes on the cool surface that he recognizes what this is. A whiteboard with plastic letters.

In fact, he can tell that the first letter is an ‘S’ before he’s even fully explored it. There are three other letters and he’s so accustomed to reading these plastic letters that the word becomes clear very quickly.

S-I-G-N.

Sign?

He continues exploring the board and discovers the next word starts with an ‘S’ too. The rest of the word is very easy to read because it’s one he’s spelled out a hundred times with these little plastic letters.

S-T-E-V-E.

That brings a lump to his throat and he thinks for one crazy minute that Steve is telling him he’s here—but that makes no sense. Why would Steve spell his name out like this instead of communicating with Bucky directly? The answer to that is: he wouldn’t.

Anyway, there are more plastic letters on the board, and they don’t spell out Steve’s last name.

F-R-E-E.

Bucky checks the letters very thoroughly, but he knows he’s reading it right. ‘Sign. Steve. Free’.

What does that mean? Did SHIELD release Steve? But why is there the word ‘sign’? Bucky doesn’t have the authority to sign Steve out from detainment. So why are they telling him about this?

He feels like the answer should be obvious, but he’s exhausted and hungry and his brain isn’t working as well as it normally would.

Maybe the others in the room—whoever they are—must get annoyed at his lack of a reaction, because his hand is picked up again and dropped back on that stack of papers he’d touched earlier. Then his hand is brought back to the whiteboard. Then back to the smooth papers.

Back and forth, back and forth.

Papers. ‘Sign. Steve. Free’. Papers. ‘Sign. Steve. Free’.

Eventually, the pattern changes and his hand is stopped midway between the journey from the board back to the papers and a thin, plastic device is pushed into his hand that Bucky identifies as a pen. Even his exhaustion and hunger aren’t too much for his brain to finally catch on.

The paper is a contract And if he signs it, Steve will be released. But he needs to get confirmation.

“I’m gonna ask yes or no questions. If the answer’s yes, somebody’s gotta tap my hand. If it’s no, then rub my hand. Okay?”

He waits, and finally, somebody smacks the back of his hand, hard. It’s on the tip of his tongue to tell the rude jerk that ‘tapping’ and ‘hitting’ are not the same thing, but at least they’re communicating with him.

“Okay. Is this paper a contract?”

Another smack on the back of his hand.

“If I sign it, Steve Rogers will be released from detainment?”

Smack.

Okay, that’s enough confirmation. Time to give Steve his freedom back. “Bring my hand exactly where you want me to sign.”

He feels papers brushing the back of his hand as somebody flips through the thick stack of papers. Finally, his hand is lifted and placed on a random spot on the paper.

Frowning with concentration, Bucky tightens his grip on the pen and mentally prepares him to sign the paper. His hand is shaking and it’s been a while since he’s had to sign papers so there’s a chance his signature won’t be very legible. He wishes he could practice on a spare piece of paper, but he doubts they’ll give him that option.

If Steve were here, the punk would argue until Bucky’s allowed to practice his signature, but that’s the point—the punk isn’t here. He’s in a cell, alone and suffering all because of Bucky, so he needs to hurry up and sign this contract so Steve can go home.

In fact, it’s probably a good thing Steve isn’t here because the punk would insist on reading the whole damn contract and agonizing over irrelevant little details like who Bucky will be allowed to talk to. It’s irrelevant who Bucky gets to talk to when Steve’s freedom is at stake. All Bucky would want to know is if they added anything else into the contract, but Steve would still insist on reading through the whole thing and interpreting the whole thing for Bucky.

…

Wait a minute.

Wait a minute!

What the _hell_ is he doing?! He’s only assuming that this contract is the same one that Steve had interpreted for him. But he has no way of knowing what these papers actually say. He could be signing his own death warrant—or even Steve’s!

He has no idea what’s written on these papers! _No idea!_

There’s no way he can sign this. No way. Jesus Christ! Barnes, start using your head!

He takes his hand off the paper. “I don’t know what’s in this contract and I ain’t signing it until I know what it says. I need Steve to interpret for me.”

The people he’s with must not like that answer, because somebody roughly rubs the back of his hand  and then grabs it and presses it onto the whiteboard. Bucky can tell that the words have been changed even before he drops the pen and touches the individual letters.

O-N-E.

C-H-A-N-C-E.

Damn. Bucky was hoping that they’d be reasonable and bring Steve so he can interpret what the contract says. But it seems that they don’t want to give him that courtesy.

One. Chance.

It’s clear what that means. Bucky has to sign this contract now, or he’ll never be given this opportunity again. Knowing that this might be the only chance he has to give Steve his freedom makes him want to grab the pen and sign these papers, but there’s that voice in the back of his head. It’s reminding him that this is a stupid chance to take.

He’s done this before, hasn’t he? In fact, this whole mess is a result of Bucky signing another contract without thoroughly understanding what he was signing. And this would be even more stupid! In fact, this would be on such a level of stupidity that Steve would never forgive him. Well, maybe the punk would, but he shouldn’t.

He knows what Steve would say. How can Bucky even consider signing something without being able to read what he’s signing?! It doesn’t matter that he’s being promised Steve’s freedom. In fact, Steve’s freedom is only being promised on the whiteboard. How can Bucky trust that they actually added that into the contract? What if he signs it and he’s released…but Steve isn’t?

There’s a sudden weight on his hand again—sending that familiar shiver of fear down his spine—and his hand is pressed against the letters on the whiteboard. One. Chance.

Yeah, yeah. He gets it.

Their pushiness reminds Bucky of Steve’s previous insistence that something is not right here. He realizes there’s a lot about this that doesn’t make sense. Ross had previously insisted that Bucky wouldn’t get another chance to sign the contract…yet, here they are.

And why is Ross—or whoever’s here—being so insistent about Bucky quickly signing this contract? There are only two possible reasons:

Just like last time, Bucky is being offered a genuine contract that will grant him and Steve freedom. Limited freedom, but freedom. But if Ross is so concerned over Bucky being a threat, then why wouldn’t he want to keep Bucky locked up? Ross should be fighting to keep Bucky locked up, not pushing him to sign this contract. That all indicates that Ross is worried about something and he’s trying to implement a fast solution.

The other possibility is a much darker one: the idea that this contract contains something much worse than permanent detainment. Maybe a literal death warrant? Maybe a death warrant for both him and Steve?

Fear floods through him and he searches the desk for the contract. Once he’s found the stack of papers, he pushes it away from him.

“I ain’t signing this. I don’t care if this is my last chance, but I ain’t signing this. Unless you’re gonna let Steve interpret it for me, I ain’t interested. Take me back to my cell.”

He braces himself, prepared for a fight if they decide to force the pen back into his hand and force him to sign, but nothing happens. Several long seconds go by and nobody touches him.

Whenever he and Steve are fighting and nothing happens for a while, Bucky knows it’s because Steve’s yelling at him in a way that Bucky can’t hear, so he thinks the people in the room are probably doing the same thing.

Well, let them yell. They’ll stop eventually and then Bucky can go back to his cell.

His heart aches at the thought that this contract may be legitimate and he may be throwing away Steve’s last chance for freedom, but that voice in his head—which sounds suspiciously like Steve—reminds him to be smart.

There’s something wrong with this whole thing and Bucky already created a big mess by signing one contract without fully being aware of what he was signing. There’s no way he’s gonna do that again.

*             *             *

After four days of having been separated from Bucky, Steve feels like the stress and worry have done permanent damage to his body. His stomach aches no matter how much or how little food he eats and he’s had a pounding headache ever since that first day when his stupid temper had cost him and Bucky their lunch.

At the beginning, guilt consumes him. He’d promised Bucky that he wouldn’t allow them to be separated, and then he’d broken that promise. It’s his job to protect Bucky and he’d failed. The guilt swirls around and around in his head. It only stops when he focuses on worrying over Bucky’s well-being.

Initially, he’d only feared for Bucky’s physical safety: What if he doesn’t remember to go to the door when it’s meal time? What if he can’t sleep properly because he’s scared about people coming into his cell without him knowing? What if he trips over something and hurts himself?

As the days went by, worries over Bucky’s mental state started creeping in too. Bucky’s probably scared and stressed and he has nobody to talk to and nothing to stimulate his mind and keep his fears at bay. If Steve wanted to, he could talk to himself. He doesn’t want to do that, and he’s gotten strangely accustomed to the silence around him, but if he wanted to, he could talk and hear himself talk. Bucky doesn’t have that option.

Steve also has the e-reader which he can use to read books and he’d discovered that they have some games programmed into it. But Bucky can’t use any of these things. Most of their games with the wrappers had been two-person games, and Steve knows if Bucky’s mood gets very low, he won’t have the desire or energy to come up with creative games for himself, which will make him feel even worse.

Steve wishes so desperately that they could at least have adjoining cells and that there could be a small hole which Steve could put his hand through so he could talk to Bucky and provide him with some physical contact. Or that he be allowed to see Bucky face to face for an hour each day and communicate with him. Steve would agree to only touch Bucky with one hand. Even if they weren’t given an hour—even if they were only given 10 minutes—5 minutes—they’d take it.

But there aren’t any such options. Steve’s tried. On his first full day of being by himself, he talked at the guards—or whoever else was listening—until he was hoarse. He’d explained over and over why they needed to give Bucky some type of stimulation. Bucky needed objects or people or something he can touch and get feedback from. He can’t stay in a barren cell where everything’s bolted down. Steve had tried being reasonable and he’d kept his temper in check—remembering what had happened the last time he’d lost his temper—and he’d laid out his arguments in a calm manner.

He’d provided different options. He’d offered to give up some of his own privileges in exchange. He’d offered to teach a guard how to have basic conversations with Bucky.

But the speakers in his cell stayed silent. Steve knows they’d heard him, but he’d gotten no response. So by day three, he’d given up on that.

Instead, he spends his days silently worrying over Bucky. Ironically, the worrying over Bucky keeps Steve from looking after his own emotional health too. His mind is so full of fear and worry that he can’t stay focused on reading anything on the e-reader or playing any of the games, or entertaining himself with his new collection of muffin wrappers and fruit cups.

Each day, he spends hours curled up on the bed, staring at the ceiling and worrying over Bucky while his stomach and head ache.

The worry is only ever replaced when he starts to fiercely miss Bucky. That usually happens during meal times or at night, when Steve finds himself reaching for Bucky—his fingers ready to spell something—and encountering nothing.

He misses Bucky’s voice, his laughter, he misses curling up together and feeling Bucky wrap his arm around him. He misses playing games with him and listening to him talk. He doesn’t just miss his lover, he misses his best friend.

Steve’s never done well without Bucky Barnes by his side, and he doesn’t know if he’ll manage to hang on until Natasha gets them out of here. He has no doubt that she will, but his body and mind deteriorate more and more as the hours and days go by.


	91. Chapter 91

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Bucky’s mental condition will deteriorate rapidly from this chapter onwards. Please refer to the note at the end of the chapter if you require more details.

The only benefit of the meeting with Ross—well, Bucky assumes Ross had been there, but he really has no idea who’d been in the room—had been that it provided some stimulation for him. It isn’t until he’s back in his cell, sitting by the door with the blanket wrapped around him that he realizes how nice it had been to touch those letters on the whiteboard. Even the smacks on the hand had made him feel more aware and energetic. It hadn’t felt nice, but he can’t be picky these days, can he?

But he knows there’s a high probability that this had truly been his last chance. Even if Ross pulls him out for another meeting, Bucky won’t sign anything unless he has Steve there to interpret—he wouldn’t trust any SHIELD interpreter anyway—and Ross would eventually give up.

And anyway, maybe Ross will wait a few weeks, months or even years before trying again.

Either way, Bucky knows he’s facing a lengthy stretch of time by himself and he knows how important it is to keep himself mentally and physically healthy while imprisoned, especially in his current condition.

He makes sure to drink plenty of water. He collects the muffin wrappers and the fruit cups after every breakfast. It takes him a while to figure out which games he can play by himself, but he forces himself to use his brain and keep himself moving—physically and mentally. Practicing braille is actually very enjoyable. He uses his fingers to poke the dots onto his thigh, which is a nice extra stimulation.

Doing exercises while he’s lying on the floor of the cell is too scary, but he stretches and jogs in his little corner by the door so he’ll know if somebody comes in. Having a shower is out of the question—he can’t leave himself vulnerable for such an extended period of time—but he’s not interacting with anybody else, and he doesn’t care if he smells a little.

He doesn’t bother talking to himself. He can’t hear himself anyway and he doesn’t want to share his best Stevie Bear and Bucky Bear stories with the guards. But between lunch and dinner, he always makes up a new story in his head and he spells certain parts out on his thigh using braille or he pretends his foot is a hand and uses the manual alphabet on it. Stevie Bear and Bucky Bear travel much further and go on much bigger adventures than they ever have before. Some of the adventures may not be realistic and some of the countries are made up, but the stories keep Bucky’s mind going and that’s what’s most important.

He really doesn’t want to forget the braille cells or how to do the BSL fingerspelling. There’s a tiny, tiny chance that Natasha will get him out of here one day and he’ll need to remember how to do the fingerspelling so people can talk to him. And doing the braille exercises is a nice way to give SHIELD a metaphorical middle finger.

And no matter what, he constantly checks for meal trays. He carefully monitors which meals he gets so he knows if he missed one, and he keeps track of days using his muffin wrappers.

The biggest problem is that he’s exhausted and getting more tired each day. He’s too scared to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time. Missing a meal tray is his biggest concern, but there’s also the fear of somebody coming into his cell. He knows that he’ll feel the vibrations in the floor, but they may not be strong enough to wake him if he’s sleeping deeply.

He’s terrified of falling asleep for too long, so he sleeps with his elbow propped up on his knee. If he falls asleep too deeply and his hand flops over, it hits the force field and the resulting shock always jerks him awake.

It works, but he can feel himself becoming weaker and slower as the days go by. He’s eating his full meals now, but the portions are still too small to keep him strong.

*             *             *

Bucky’s system works until his own exhaustion starts working against him. Bucky forgets to prop up his elbow when he falls asleep and he ends up sleeping way too long. When he wakes, he has no idea how long he’s slept, but he knows it was too long.

Frantically, he feels the floor by the door, but there’s nothing there. He knows he should be getting dinner next. He refuses to let himself sleep until he finally feels the tray.

When it arrives, he searches for the bowl of pasta, but he doesn’t find it. Instead, there’s a bowl of fruit, a muffin and other things. None of them are pasta.

Damn. This isn’t dinner.

This is what happens when he falls asleep! He’s a moron!

Very upset with himself, he puts the tray back by the slot in the door and leans against the wall, struggling not to cry. He’s getting very hungry and he’s exhausted, but he knows he can’t fall asleep until he’s had dinner.

He’ll get his pasta, he just has to wait and not fall asleep.

*             *             *

Bucky loves his collection of fruit cups and muffin wrappers. He’s finding the new games he’d created are too complicated these days, so he likes just sitting in his corner and touching the ruffled edges of the muffin wrapper and the rim of the paper cup. He can squish them into different shapes and smell the remnants of the sweet fruit and the muffin.

They end up featuring a lot in his Bear stories, like today’s story. Stevie Bear and Bucky Bear take a fruit cup down to the beach with them and they collect sea shells which they’ll bring home to Ma Bear. Ma Bear is always happy to see what they bring back from their adventures.

The young Bears are on their way back to the train station…when suddenly, the Shadow Monsters start chasing them!

Damn, damn, damn! Bucky doesn’t know why the Shadow Monsters showed up or how they knew the Bears went down to the beach, but they always seem to find them these days. They show up in almost every story Bucky tries to tell and they chase Bucky Bear and Stevie Bear and try to grab them with their shadow arms and lock them up in a dark room. The Shadow Monsters can follow the Bears anywhere because they don’t have real bodies. They’re made out of darkness that can squeeze underneath closed doors and into the smallest nooks.

The Shadow Monsters have been hunting Bucky relentlessly—their long shadow arms creep into his cell whenever his eyes are closed—but he hates that they’re attacking the Bears too!

Bucky always finds himself getting so upset and scared when the Shadow Monsters show up to chase the Bears that he has to change to a different story. He grabs the Bears and transports them somewhere else—a nice, bright meadow filled with sunshine or flowers, or into a game of Punchball with Ma Bear.

But today, the Shadow Monsters keep coming. Bucky can see Stevie Bear and Bucky Bear running to stay away from them, but Stevie Bear can’t run very fast and the Shadow Monsters are getting closer and closer and…

Desperate to help them, Bucky fumbles around himself for anything that could help them.

The only thing he has is his stack of paper cups and muffin wrappers. They’re very important items, so maybe the Shadow Monsters will take them in exchange for leaving the Bears alone? He has no idea if it’ll work, but he has to try.

He knows what he has to do. The next time he gets his meal tray, he’ll put his wrappers and cups on the tray so they can be given to the Shadow Monsters. A lump grows in his throat at the thought of losing one of the only sources of entertainment he has, but what choice does he have? He can’t let the Shadow Monsters keep chasing and scaring Stevie Bear and Bucky Bear.

So when he gets his next meal tray, he struggles to keep himself from crying as he eats. When he’s done, he gently picks up his precious stack of muffin wrappers and fruit cups and puts them in the middle of the tray. An offering for the Shadow Monsters.

His heart is aching with grief at the thought of losing these priceless items, but he has no choice.

‘Please, please leave the Bears alone’, he pleads as he forces himself to pull his shaking hand back from the stack of precious papers in the center of the tray. Then he pushes the tray back to the slot and pulls his knees up to his chest as he sobs.

*             *             *

‘Ma, please, please, please make sure Buck’s okay.’

‘Ma, please, please, please help Nat get us out of here.’

That’s what Steve thinks to himself several times an hour. When he’s not distracted by eating or trying to read something on the e-reader, he’s worrying himself literally sick at the thought of Bucky not doing okay.

He carefully keeps track of days, forces himself to exercise and plays at least one round of solitaire on the computer per day. He’s discovered that the little games on the computer play cheerful music, which is nice. It makes him angry that Bucky can’t enjoy any of that, but he knows he won’t be any good to Bucky if he lets his mind go, so he forces himself to play the games or read something. The rest of his days are filled with worrying and trying to ignore the constant pain in his gut.

He knows this can’t go on forever. Bucky can’t live in such conditions for months and they’ve been separated for two weeks now. It kills him that there’s nothing he can do to make things better for Bucky except asking his ma for help.

The days are never-ending cycles of boredom and worry. He’s become so accustomed to the solitude of his surroundings that when the bars suddenly let out a metallic clang and start sliding out from the holes in the floor, he nearly gets a heart attack from the sudden noise.

He can only stand there, staring dumbly at the door as the bars come up and the door swings open. There are guards standing outside the door and Steve’s brain kicks back into gear. Maybe it’s time for another meeting?

Maybe he’ll get to see Buck?!

Excitement and hope race through him and he starts walking towards the guards without even thinking about it.

“Rogers! Where the fuck do you think you’re going? Hands on the wall!”

The guard’s voice sounds way too loud in his small cell. He’s accustomed to the smaller, gentler noises of his clothes rustling, the water in the shower, the flush of the toilet and the music from the computer games.

But he understands the words and remembers where he is and what behavior is expected from him. Turning, he faces the wall and puts his hands on the flat surface and waits for the guard to enter the cell and cuff him.

Once the restraints are on, he’s led out of his cell, but instead of turning down the hallway that leads to the elevator, they turn down another hallway. Steve frowns. He knows this hallway only leads to the front of the building where the intake rooms and reception are.

Why are they taking him in this direction?

He’s pulled to a stop after they’ve passed through the last security door and they’re in the lobby.

“Okay, Rogers. You’re being released so I’m gonna take the cuffs off you, you’re gonna go get changed, sign yourself out and then off you go.”

Steve blinks at him. “I—When’s the meeting?” His voice sounds way too loud, the words echoing around in his head. Talking also makes his throat feel weird. He hasn’t said a word since he’d stopped begging the guards to help Bucky, which was a week and a half ago.

The guard frowns at him. “What? What meeting? Are you deaf? You’re being released.”

“I…what?”

The guard sighs. He takes off the restraints and points at a room next to where Steve and Bucky had been searched. “Your clothes are in there. Go get changed, then come sign papers and then you’re heading out.”

Feeling numb, Steve’s body obeys before his mind has fully caught up. He enters the small room and sees his normal clothes on a table, nicely folded up. Moving mechanically, his body starts getting changed while his mind is still wondering when the meeting will take place. He’s also very excited about seeing Bucky.

When he’s changed, he comes back out, signs a stack of papers that are shoved under his nose and then the guard gestures at the front door.

Is the meeting outside? Will he and Bucky be allowed to go outside for a few minutes? Oh, that’ll be nice!

Before he’s fully aware of it, his feet have walked him through the doors and he’s standing on the sidewalk, blinking in the glare of the sunlight and being jostled by people brushing past him. There are cars zooming by and honking and it’s all way too loud and bright.

“Steve! Oh, my God! Rogers!”

He knows that voice. It’s not Bucky’s voice, but it’s a voice that’s familiar.

Then a red-headed woman is grabbing his arms and staring at him anxiously. Steve blinks. It’s Natasha. That’s—that’s wonderful! Is Natasha allowed to visit him and Bucky? Steve smiles at her.

To his confusion, she doesn’t smile back. She looks very worried as she stares at him. “Steve? Do you know who I am?”

“You’re—you’re Nat. Where’s Buck?” His voice sounds so strange. It’s echoing in his head. Has his voice always done that? Adding to the confusion are the other noises around him—cars zooming by and honking, people shouting.

There’s way too much going on around him. Has the world always been so loud and bright?

She frowns at him. “Buck’s still inside. He—”

Oh, well that explains why Bucky isn’t here. Steve’s feet are already turning around to head back into the building. “Okay, I’ll go get him. I’ll be right back.”

She grabs his jacket and yanks him to a stop. “No, stop. Rogers, look at me.”

“I need to—I need to go get Buck. I’ll be right back. He’ll be so happy out in the sun.”

Her grip on his sweater tightens and she’s pulling him around to face her. It makes him feel dizzy and he gives her a dirty look. “You don’t gotta be so—”

“Steve, look at me. You’re in shock and you’re confused, okay? You’re not thinking clearly and I need you to listen to me and trust me. Can you do that?”

“I—I gotta go get Buck.”

“Buck isn’t allowed to come out here. You’ve been released, but Buck hasn’t. Not yet. He will be, but not yet.”

“So we’re gonna wait for him?”

“No. Not here. We’re gonna go home, okay? You don’t look good and you need to rest and recover. I’m gonna need your help—Buck is gonna need your help—but you can’t help anybody when you’re like this.”

A few of those words catch Steve’s attention. “Buck needs my help?”

“Yeah. Yeah, he does. But first, he needs you to go home and get strong again. Then you can help him. You can’t help him when you’re tired and weak, right?”

Steve shakes his head. No, he can’t help Bucky in that condition. “So we’ll go home and then we’ll come back and get Buck?”

“Yeah. Come on, Steve. Let’s find a cab.”

*             *             *

When the hackie pulls up in front of the apartment, Steve feels a rush of relief. He’s still confused and he can feel that he’s not fully tracking what’s going on, but he knows this building and he knows this is home. He climbs out of the hackie and slowly climbs up the stairs. The physical activity from the last hour is really tiring him out. Natasha leaps up the stairs and unlocks the front door before he gets there. She ushers him inside and his feet walk to the apartment door automatically.

Natasha unlocks the door and Steve slowly walks in, staring around.

Everything is exactly as it should be and a glow of happiness lights up in his chest. Dishes are drying in the drying rack, Maggie is lying on the top platform of her cage, Bucky’s art projects are on the walls and there’s a movie quietly playing on the TV.

Home. He’s home…but it doesn’t feel real.

Is he hallucinating?

“Steve, look at me. Just for a minute.”

With difficulty, Steve tears his eyes off the wonderful apartment around him and he stares at Natasha. This can’t be real, can it? How can he be here? How?

“Do you want to go have a shower first or do you want to eat or have a nap? You need to do all three, but the order is up to you.”

Steve blinks at her. “Am I dreaming?”

Natasha presses her lips together. “Okay. I’m gonna choose. Sit down at the table and we’ll get some calories into you and then you’re gonna sleep.”

Numbly, Steve marches over to the table and sits down in his usual seat. He’s pleased to note that the salt and pepper shakers are in the right spots. Bucky gets very upset if they’re moved.

Abruptly, a plastic bottle with a bright label is put in front of him, along with a bowl of oatmeal. “Drink all of that and eat the oatmeal.”

Numbly, Steve obeys. The drink is strawberry flavored and tastes a bit gritty, but it’s nice and sweet. The oatmeal has a strange aftertaste, as if something had been mixed into it, but it tastes good too. It’s so nice to eat something different!

When he’s done, Natasha helps him up from the table and brings him into the bedroom. She hands him clothes to change into and then helps him into bed. The mattress is so squishy that Steve panics when he sits on it—it feels like he’s gonna fall straight through it and onto the floor—but Natasha tells him that the mattress is safe, so he lets her help him lie down.

Maybe it’s the familiar scents surrounding him or maybe he really is in shock, but he’s asleep within a few minutes of closing his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning (details): Bucky begins to experience some mental effects associated with extreme sensory deprivation. He begins to hallucinate, has trouble thinking coherently and is generally mentally impaired. All of the effects are temporary, but they will continue getting worse until he’s released from detainment.


	92. Chapter 92

Hours later, Steve wakes up. To his surprise, he feels better than he has in days. Just the comfort of lying in his own bed again is so nice.

Wait a minute…

His own bed??

Staring around himself, Steve thinks he’s started to hallucinate. There’s no way he can actually be home! Panicking, he sits up and throws the blankets off himself, sure that once he’s standing up, this weird dream will stop.

He nearly falls over in his haste to stand up—this bed is much higher off the ground than the bed in the cell is—and that must attract attention, because there’s the scrape of a chair from the living room.

“You okay, Steve?”

The sound of that voice is so surprising that Steve can only stand there, staring at her in shock. Natasha’s standing in the doorway, wearing one of Steve’s sweaters and frowning at him with worry.

“Nat? How—how—am I dreaming?”

Natasha gets a sad look on her face. “No, sweetie. You’re still in a bit of shock, but I think you’re doing better. You’re home. You were released from detainment yesterday.”

“Okay.” That’s great! “Is Buck awake already?”

Her face stays blank. “Buck is still in detainment. I got you out yesterday, but it’ll take us a while to get Buck out.”

That—that—that’s not good. That’s not good at all. Steve frowns. He needs to go back for Bucky.

“Rogers, look at me.”

He’ll go sit in the lobby and yell at everybody in that building until they release Bucky. Or he’ll convince them to put him in a cell with Bucky again. But how? They won’t let them stay together just because Steve wants them to.

“Rogers. Look. At. Me.”

Annoyed at the interruption, Steve glares at her.

“You’re not going back there today. That’s not happening. They won’t allow you to see Bucky. They’ll either throw you back out or if you annoy them enough, they’ll put you back into your own cell. That’s not going to help Buck, right?”

“But—”

“That’s not going to help Buck, right?”

A lump grows in Steve’s throat. “I gotta help him, Nat. I can’t—I can’t just—I gotta help him.”

She walks up to him and tightly grasps his hands, squeezing them. “We’ll help him, I promise. I’m working as hard as I can to get him out, but it’s a complicated situation and we have to move slowly. I have things I need to do and you have things you need to do.”

“Like what?”

“In order to help Buck, you have to get yourself back into good shape. That means you gotta go shower, get cleaned up, then eat more and have another nap. When you’re ready to pay attention, I’ll let you know what’s going on.”

“That’s gonna help Buck? Me having a shower?” That sounds dumb.

She squeezes his hands. “Yes. When Buck is let out, he’s gonna need a lot of help and you have to be strong and healthy so you can help him properly.”

Oh. Well, that makes sense.

Moving slowly and still feeling a bit numb, Steve goes into the bathroom to shower—and nearly has a heart attack when he sees his reflection in the mirror.

He’s gotten accustomed to the feel of his scruffy beard when he’s scratching his face, and he’s used to picking food out of it, but the cell had no mirrors, so seeing the full beard on his face is shocking. It doesn’t help that the rest of his face looks terrible.

He’s pale, there are dark circles under his eyes and his face looks thinner than it had a month ago. The beard hides some of it, but he can see how sunken his eyes look. Now he understands Natasha’s concern. He certainly doesn’t look like somebody who can help anybody else, never mind if that person needs a lot of help, like Bucky will.

He has a shower—relishing the strong water pressure and the smell of his familiar shampoo—then shaves the beard off and trims his hair a bit. By the time he emerges from the bathroom, there’s no longer a stranger staring back at him from the mirror and he feels a lot better.

When he comes out, Natasha smiles. “There you are. I was starting to think maybe I’d picked up the wrong person.”

Steve smiles and sits down at the table. “I hope I smell better too.”

“Oh, definitely. It wasn’t too bad, but it wasn’t pleasant.”

She slides another plastic bottle towards him as well as a big bowl of oatmeal and Steve digs in. While he drinks, he frowns down at the plastic bottle. It’s a nutritional drink that seems to be geared towards the elderly.

Natasha chuckles. “I’m not making fun of you with those drinks. They’re meant for people who need lots of extra nutrients. Normally, you’re okay, but you haven’t been getting enough calories. I added some supplement powder into the oatmeal too. I know it’s boring, but I didn’t know how upset your stomach would be if I made you a big steak.”

Steve makes a face. “Yeah, that’s probably not a good idea right now. By the way—since when are you cooking?”

“I didn’t mean _I’d_ make you the steak. I meant I’d order you the steak.”

He grins around a mouthful of oatmeal. God, he feels a lot better. “Good to know you aren’t deliberately trying to poison me.”

“Shut up and eat your oatmeal. And when you take a break, put these back on.” She slides two objects across the table at him.

They’re Steve’s leather bracelets.

His spoon freezes mid-air, then it drops from his numb fingers as he reaches for the bracelets. He nearly bursts into tears when he touches them, rubbing the well-worn leather with the notches carved into it and the beads at either end. His hands are so accustomed to putting them on that he watches while his hands automatically put the bracelets on his wrists, snapping them shut and lining them up right so the beads are on either side of his wrist.

He rubs his fingers over the notches and the beads, the motions so soothingly familiar. He misses Bucky so fiercely that he wants to cry.

“Rogers?”

“Hmm?”

“Before you burst into tears, go say hi to Maggie.”

His fingers freeze on the bracelets. Maggie!

Steve spins around in his chair and stares at Maggie—who stares right back with her one beady eye. No doubt, she’s annoyed that Steve has completely forgotten about her. Scampering off his chair, Steve hurries to the cage. His hand freezes before yanking open the door and reaching in. He doesn’t know how Maggie will react to him, so it’s better to go slow.

“Hey, Mags. You’re looking good. Did you miss me?” He smiles at her and she glares back. So everything’s normal so far. “I know you miss Buck, huh? I do too. I’m real sorry that he ain’t here yet, but I hope you’re just a little happy to see me.”

She stares at him. Deciding that a lack of hissing and spitting is a good sign, Steve unlatches the door and slowly moves his hand to the little bird. When Maggie tolerates his gentle stroking of her wings, Steve decides to take her out.

Maybe Maggie really is happy to see him—it’s almost impossible to tell with her—because she allows Steve to pick her up, put her on her pillow and sit on the couch with the pillow on his lap. He notices there’s a blanket and one of Bucky’s pillows shoved into the corner of the couch. Looks like somebody’s been sleeping on their couch. There’s also a small pile of plastic building blocks on the coffee table, along with some of Maggie’s moisturizer. Looks like whoever’s been sleeping on their couch has also been spending time taking care of Maggie and playing the pillow game with her.

Steve smiles, his love for Natasha filling his chest.

Natasha joins him with Steve’s bowl of oatmeal. “Okay, you pet Maggie and I’ll feed you.”

Steve chuckles and dutifully opens his mouth whenever Natasha brings a spoonful of oatmeal to his mouth. It isn’t until he’s relaxing against the couch that the strangeness of the situation finally occurs to him. Swallowing a mouthful of oatmeal, he stares at Natasha but doesn’t interrupt the slow stroking of Maggie’s back.

“Nat…how the hell is Mags here? Major Cheng promised he’d take her. I mean, there’s no way she’d—”

“No, no, Ray did take her. He had her for a few days while he tried to get a hold of me. It’s complicated, but Ray—”

“Who the hell is Ray?”

She smiles softly. “That’s Cheng’s first name, Steve.”

Oh. Well now Steve feels silly. “Right. Sorry, keep going.”

She scrapes up another spoonful of oatmeal. “Do you wanna hear the whole story? I really need to catch you up, but if you’re not feeling okay yet…”

Steve opens his mouth and accepts another mouthful. “No, I’m feeling okay. As long as you ain’t asking me to go run a marathon, I can handle it.”

*             *             *

It turns out that Major Cheng had done exactly as he’d promised. He’d dropped Bucky and Steve off at the detainment center and made sure to list Steve as Bucky’s ‘interpreter’ so they’d be put in the same cell. The only reason that arrangement worked for eleven whole days was because Ross had given the orders to detain Bucky but then had to go to an emergency meeting in Europe and hadn’t bothered checking in with the situation until he’d returned.

Once Ross had been caught up with the situation, he’d been livid at Steve and Bucky being permitted to share a cell and he’d taken his annoyance out on Cheng, who he’d demoted and fired that same day. Major Cheng hadn’t particularly cared and he’d apparently given Ross a big piece of his mind before he’d left SHIELD headquarters.

As he’d promised, the Major—Ray—had taken Maggie to his apartment and worked hard to make her comfortable. Natasha had learned about the detainment a few days after it had happened—she doesn’t think it’s a coincidence that the detainment orders had been given the day she’d started a covert operation that required a communication black-out for five days—and she’d returned to the States immediately.

She’d argued for Steve and Bucky to be released immediately, and when Ross threatened to fire her if she didn’t keep her  nose out of the situation, she’d quit.

“You…you what?”

“I quit. I’m done with SHIELD. It’s not a big deal, Rogers, don’t worry about it. Even if Ross hadn’t threatened to fire me, I’d have quit anyway. What they’ve done to Buck since day one of this whole mess isn’t right and it’s never sat right with me and this whole thing made it clear to me that they’re not an organization I wanna work for anymore.”

“But—”

“Just ignore that part, okay? We can talk about it later. Right now, I have to explain why Buck’s situation is a lot more complicated than yours.”

Getting Steve out of detainment wasn’t very difficult but Natasha had focused on trying to get both of them out. After meeting with Ray to get a clear picture of what had happened, she’d asked him for the keys to Bucky and Steve’s apartment and had taken Maggie back home.

“And you moved yourself in too, huh?” Steve asks, smiling knowingly.

She looks a bit hesitant. “I thought it would be better for Maggie to come back home, and at least she knew me more than Ray. You also had stuff in your fridge that would have gone bad, and I had to take care of Bucky’s plants, and I didn’t really see the point of going back and forth from a hotel every—”

Steve chuckles. “Relax, Nat. I’m glad you moved in. I’m glad Mags had the company and you know that this is your home too. I’m glad you decided to stay here instead of a hotel.”

“So you’re not annoyed?”

“No. Absolutely not. And I know Buck wouldn’t be either. This is your home as much as it is ours. I’m real happy that you brought Mags back home, you had a nice place to stay and I don’t have to throw out a bunch of rotting food. And I know Bucky will be real happy that you took care of his plants and we’re both thrilled you took care of Maggie.”

“And I paid your bills.”

Steve chuckled. “How could I possibly be upset about that? Now, keep going. So you moved in here with Mags and then what?”

Natasha had found the copy of the contract in Steve’s desk and then met with her lawyer—Matthew—to discuss the situation. They had come to a realization very quickly:

Bucky had absolutely not violated the contract by learning braille. Regardless of whether he could be triggered by reading Russian braille or not, there was nothing in the contract forbidding Bucky from learning how to read. Nothing. He had to remain deaf and blind as part of the contract conditions, but there were no conditions forcing him to remain illiterate.

This whole thing had been caused by Ross’ continued paranoia about Bucky being a public threat. The idea that Bucky was learning how to read had made Ross jump into panic mode and he’d immediately decided Bucky was doing something that made him a threat. He hadn’t bothered doing any research about braille or consulting anybody about it. He hadn’t even stopped to consider that Bucky’s contract didn’t forbid him from reading. Instead, Ross had immediately written up the detainment order.

Apparently, Bucky and Steve hadn’t been the only ones who had tried to point out that Ross had made a mistake. Natasha believes that Ray had tried making Ross see reason, and that discussion had ultimately led to Ray being fired, even if Ross claims it was because Ray had violated orders by allowing Steve and Bucky to stay in a cell together.

In any case, once Ross had realized his mistake, he’d scrambled to fix it. His paranoia about Bucky suddenly took a backseat to his fears that this mistake might have career-ending consequences. He didn’t want anybody to find out that he’d incorrectly ordered the detainment of a disabled individual who had never been charged with anything. The publicity would have been terrible, and SHIELD would have hung Ross out to dry over such a mistake.

But if he got Bucky to agree to sign a new contract, everything would be smoothed out. Bucky would be released and the new contract would support his prior detainment. Everything would look alright on the surface, so nobody would want to look into it too deeply. Ross would get his wish—Bucky would be forced to remain illiterate and Ross would come out of it looking like a hero who saved the world from evil.

Natasha had been frantic when she and Matthew had found out about Ross’ intentions to offer Bucky a new contract. She hadn’t been able to get visitation rights, and the papers Matthew had filed to get visitation rights for himself or Natasha sat on somebody’s desk, who had probably been instructed by Ross to drag their feet over signing them. She didn’t trust any of the guards to pass on a message for her and hacking into the e-reader of the cell to send a message was too risky.

Having no alternatives, she’d come up with a desperate plan to send Steve and Bucky a message to let them know not to lose hope and that she would get them out of there.

“The onions in the muffin, right?”

“Uh hmm. I hoped you’d notice them and if one of you didn’t want to eat the muffin that day, I knew it was something either of you could catch.”

“It worked, Nat. It really did. I always knew you’d get us out of there, but that took away the last bit of doubt I had.”

“What about Buck?”

“He…didn’t feel as confident about it. But I’m really, really hoping he didn’t sign anything after we were split up.”

Once Natasha had learned that Bucky had refused to sign the new contract, her focus was back on getting them out of detainment.

Matthew had pointed out that Steve’s situation was much more straight-forward than Bucky’s. Steve hadn’t been charged with any crime and he didn’t have a contract with SHIELD. In fact, Ross hadn’t even issued a detainment order for Steve. Even if Ross had the right to separate Steve from Bucky—since Steve wasn’t an official interpreter and Bucky didn’t need an interpreter when he was in the cell—he should have let Steve go home immediately, rather than lock him up.

Natasha and Matthew had jumped at the chance to apply pressure to Ross, knowing that he didn’t have any valid arguments for keeping Steve detained. They added on the argument that the public outcry over Captain America having been detained for no valid reason would create bad publicity which SHIELD didn’t need, and SHIELD would rightly blame the whole mess on Ross and punish him for it.

After days of back and forth and increasing their threats to go to the media, Ross finally gave in and signed documents releasing Steve from detainment.

That’s left them with the much more difficult situation: getting Bucky out, which continues to be a difficult process.

During negotiations with Ross, it’s become clear that Ross isn’t going to give up easily where Bucky is concerned. Ross doesn’t want to admit that he’d made a mistake—which might have long-term career consequences—but he also knows that others may eventually figure out what had happened and he may have to pay a price for it.

On the surface, the situation should be as straight-forward as it was with Steve: Bucky hasn’t violated his contract and therefore, there is no valid reason to keep him detained. But Ross has one big advantage.

“What advantage?” Steve mumbles around a mouthful of oatmeal. “He screwed up. He ain’t got nothing.”

“Bucky was never charged for any crimes related to his time as the Winter Soldier.”

Steve stares at her while he swallows and gently scratches Maggie’s belly. “Yeah. That’s the point. He ain’t ever been charged with nothing and he ain’t violated his contract.”

“No, that’s not what I’m trying to say. The fact that Bucky was never officially charged with anything related to the Winter Soldier’s activities isn’t a good thing in this situation. The problem is that if Ross insists on Bucky being charged for those crimes, he can easily do it.”

“Well, go ahead and let him. Buck would never be convicted.”

“You don’t know that. Here’s the problem: if Bucky’s officially charged, he’d be transferred from detainment to prison. He’d stay there until a bail hearing and due to the nature of the crimes he’d be charged with, he’d probably be denied bail and he’d be put right back into prison. He’d have to wait until he gets a deal from the prosecution or until he goes to trial. Either way, it’ll probably take the government years to prepare for his trial or offer a deal and Bucky would have to spend that time in prison. If he gets a deal, the deal will have to include a lengthy prison sentence. They’d probably take the death penalty off the table or decrease the charges a bit, but he’d still be given multiple life sentences. If he goes to trial, there’s a chance that he’d be acquitted, but there’s an equal chance that the jury will convict him. He killed children and women, Steve. That’s something that grabs most people’s emotions and they won’t take the time to understand concepts like brainwashing, solitary confinement, torture and everything else that went into creating the Winter Soldier. Going to trial is a huge risk. Even if he’s acquitted, he’d still have to spend years behind bars until it’s time for his trial. That’s what I’m trying to say, Steve: Bucky being charged for those crimes is the worst possible scenario for him. There’s a high chance he wouldn’t live to see the trial.”

Steve sits there, numb. He’d even stopped petting Maggie. He’s so glad Natasha is here to spell things out for him. He was only looking at the bigger picture: that Bucky would probably be acquitted, but he hadn’t even considered how difficult the path would be to get to the acquittal. And there’s even a chance that he won’t be acquitted.

Natasha’s right. They can’t take such a risk. It would be a death sentence for Bucky, regardless of the trial’s outcome.

Steve stares at Natasha, fear crawling down his back. “How do we stop Ross from charging Buck?”

“That’s why I said this is complicated. Matthew and I are working on it and it looks like things are going well. Matthew’s made it clear that the old contract has been invalidated by what Ross did, but Ross won’t let Bucky go without a new contract being put in place. He’d look like a fool otherwise. But if we fight him about the new contract too much, then he’ll carry out his threat of charging Bucky. So we’re negotiating with him to make the terms of the new contract fair for Bucky but also keep Ross happy enough to keep him from charging Bucky.”

Steve is silent for a few minutes, letting this all sink in. “So…when is our next meeting?”

She shakes her head. “No. You have things you gotta do and I have things I gotta do. You can’t be there for the meetings.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but she holds up a hand, cutting him off. “No. You know you’d let your temper get away from you and the last thing we need is for Ross to feel threatened or offended and do good on his threat. Steve, if he charges Bucky, then Bucky’s in the system and the whole thing will be out of our hands. That’ll start a series of events which we have very little control over. Right now, we have control over the situation because the only people involved is our little group, but you need to let Matthew and me handle things.”

“So…so I just sit here, worrying and being useless?”

“No. You need to get your strength back and you need to figure out what Bucky’s going to need once he’s released. I’m betting he’s going to be traumatized and he’ll need lots of help. You’ll need to be ready for that.”

Hearing Natasha’s predictions remind Steve of Bucky’s current situation. He’d been so focused on Natasha’s words and thinking about papers and laws that he’s forgotten that Bucky’s still in a cell, suffering by himself.

Natasha must see something on his face because she squeezes his thigh. “We’ll get him out, I promise. It might take a few more days—maybe another week—but we’ll get him out.”

“He—Nat, he’s probably so scared and…he doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve any of this.”

Natasha puts the bowl of oatmeal on the coffee table and gently puts Maggie’s pillow on the table too. When she opens her arms, Steve needs no other invitation. He slumps against her and wraps his arms tightly around her, burying his face in her neck as she rubs his back.

“Neither of you deserve any of this, Steve. Both of you have the right to live peaceful, quiet lives and that’s what I’m going to get you both, I promise.”

“We’d be dead if it weren’t for you. You realize that, right? I was getting sick and weak and Buck’s probably doing even worse.”

“Hush. You’re family and it’s what we do for family, isn’t it?”

He squeezes her tighter. “Yeah.”


	93. Chapter 93

Bucky decides he can’t do any more Bear stories. The Shadow Monsters now show up within minutes of the story starting and start chasing Bucky Bear and Stevie Bear, and he can’t put the young Bears through that.

In an effort to appease the Shadow Monsters, Bucky is leaving them his muffin wrapper and his fruit cup each day. It doesn’t seem to make a difference, so he starts leaving them the muffin and the fruit in the cup, thinking that they’re probably upset that he gave them empty wrappers.

But he must have really upset them, because eventually they start coming after him too.

The first time it happens is when he’s at the sink, drinking some water. It’s right after he’s had one of his meals, so he knows he has time to go to the toilet and drink water before he has to get back to the door. He’s bent over the sink, drinking from the stream of water, when a Shadow Monster suddenly wraps it’s dark, long fingers around his arm.

He nearly gets a heart attack from fear and jerks away from the hand, stumbled away until he slams into the wall by the shower. The Shadow Monster follows him and grabs his arm again and Bucky frantically starts swinging his arm at it. He knows it’s a foolish thing to do—the Shadow Monster is made out of darkness so he can’t actually hurt it—but the dark fingers release his arm.

Fear is making his heart pound in his throat and his eyes strain to see through the darkness around him despite knowing that he couldn’t see the Shadow Monster anyway. He’s about to yell at it to leave him alone, when he remembers that voicing isn’t allowed. Voicing is never allowed! Jesus, Barnes! Use your brain and stop being a moron!

Snapping his mouth shut and he swings his arm at the Shadow Monster. He’s so terrified that he’s moments away from bursting into tears, but he can’t give up now. He needs to get back to the door. He can’t risk missing a meal along with all this other nonsense. So he swings at the Shadow Monster some more and slowly, slowly gains enough ground to shuffle through the cell until he reaches his spot by the door.

Collapsing into his corner, he pulls his blanket up over his head. Wrapping the blanket around himself has always made him feel a bit safer and if they try to grab him again, hopefully he’ll be able to keep the rest of himself safe.

He can feel that they’re still here in his cell. More and more of them are flowing in between the metal bars of the door and filling his cell with more darkness. The fear sticks in his throat, he’s shaking and he quickly loses his battle to keep his tears at bay and let himself start to cry.

He can feel them getting closer and closer, and one of them keeps brushing his side. Another one grabs his right shoulder, but before Bucky can get his arm fully out from under the blanket to swing at it, it’s released him.

It’s scary and Bucky hates it, but what can he do? He knows why they’re hunting him. He stopped telling Bear stories, so they can’t go after Stevie Bear and Bucky Bear anymore and the Shadow Monsters are upset.

But it’s better that they’re going after Bucky instead of the young Bears. He needs to protect them, especially Stevie Bear. So he didn’t have a choice about stopping the stories, but that doesn’t stop him from desperately wishing the Shadow Monsters would leave him alone.

All he can do is be glad that Stevie Bear and Bucky Bear are safe. Unfortunately, that thought doesn’t provide enough comfort to stop the fear or his tears.

*             *             *

Liam stares at the monitor in shock. Ryan had dropped his phone to the floor when Barnes had first swung out at nothing. Ryan doesn’t seem to have noticed that his phone is still on the floor.

They’d been eating lunch, talking about yesterday’s baseball game and watching the detainees finishing their lunch. Everything had seemed normal. Barnes had finished his lunch, then he’d gone to the sink to drink water, when he’d suddenly started swinging his arm at the air around him.

If he’d only taken a few swings, Liam could have excused the behavior by assuming that he’d splashed water onto his face and surprised himself, or that he’d bumped his hip against the sink. But when Barnes keeps swinging his arm at nothing and stumbling over to the shower wall, still swinging, Liam starts to suspect something else is going on.

Ryan had dropped his phone and they’d both stared in shock as Barnes continued fighting the air around him until he’d managed to get back to his usual spot by the door and pulled the blanket over himself.

“What the fuck was that?” Ryan demands.

Liam knows. He’s seen this before, but not this extreme. “He’s hallucinating. It happens to some people. Detainees start looking around like they’re seeing something that’s not there or they’ll start talking to people who aren’t there.”

“So he’s sick?” Ryan asks.

“Not exactly. It’s cause of the sensory deprivation. Hopefully, it’ll stop soon.”

The lights in the cells and the e-readers are supposed to help prevent detainees from suffering extreme sensory deprivation, but Liam realizes that none of those things are useful for Barnes.

*             *             *

Bucky’s in a state of fear almost constantly. His body is exhausted and he finds himself nodding off into sleep far more than he should. The Shadow Monsters hunt him in his dreams too, but it really doesn’t make a difference anymore. Awake or asleep—he’s scared and being hunted in eternal darkness.

Then comes the day when the Shadow Monsters are no longer content with grabbing him, but they start scratching him with their long, sharp nails. Even when he’s curled up with the blanket over him, they scratch him. The blanket helps to dull some of the painful scratches, but it’s not enough to keep them away entirely. Bucky tries to fight them off, but the second he gets rid of one hand, another one appears in a different spot. As long as he stays curled up, he can protect his face and his belly.

It’s much worse when he has to uncurl himself and go to the toilet or the sink for a drink of water. He takes his blanket with him and stays covered as he crawls across the floor until he reaches the sink or the toilet, staying as curled up as much as possible underneath his blanket while he goes. But despite his best efforts, the Shadow Monsters can squeeze into the tiniest spaces and they scratch his stomach, his face and anything else they can’t grab when he’s curled up.

The trips to the toilet and sink become more unbearable as the days go on and the fear and pain are enough to keep him glued in his corner, regardless of his body’s needs. He always tries to hold his bladder as long as he can, but that gets harder as he gets weaker and if he has to choose between making the journey to the toilet or staying in his corner, he mostly opts to stay in his corner.

Besides, he doesn’t have to pee much these days because going to the sink is a nightmare. He only drinks when his tongue stays stuck to the roof of his mouth and he can’t swallow anymore. Sitting in wet pants is uncomfortable, but not nearly as uncomfortable as the scratching.

Eating is difficult too. He hates having to stick his hand out from under his blanket and endure the scratching and grabbing whenever he feels for the meal tray, so he decides he won’t die if he misses a few meals. He only reaches his hand out a few times a day to feel for the tray, and if it’s there, it’s there. If not, it’s not.

Eating is an annoyance anyway. He needs to pull handfuls of food underneath the blanket to himself, because the scratching and grabbing hands ravage his hand whenever it’s outside. It makes eating slow and he often doesn’t finish more than half the items on the tray before it’s taken away. When that first happened, he’d let himself cry from frustration and self-pity, but he stops doing that eventually. There’s no point.

He’s tired of crying. Crying makes him thirsty, which means he’ll have to go to the sink sooner, which is never good. And crying doesn’t seem to make a difference to the Shadow Monsters. So he stops crying entirely.

Time becomes meaningless. His entire world is composed of fear, shadow hands that scratch and grab him, the need to sleep and the need to drink water. His body is so exhausted that he finds himself sleeping for longer and longer periods of time. His dreams are the same as his waking hours: huddled up and trying to survive the grabbing, scratching hands of the Shadow Monsters.

*             *             *

“You see? Clearly, it’s getting worse, sir,” Liam says, gesturing at the current video feed of Barnes curled up underneath his filthy blanket. In the last 48 hours, he’s gone to the sink to drink once and he’s eaten one slice of ham.

Liam and Ryan don’t get to see Barnes a lot these days, since he spends nearly all his time hidden beneath the blanket. When they do see him, it’s clear that he’s not aware of his surroundings. He keeps fighting invisible things and it seems that the invisible things are winning, if his decreased mobility is anything to go by.

Ross stares impassively at the monitor. “Clearly he’s wanting attention and he’s succeeding. He probably thinks this circus will make us release him, but that’s not going to happen.”

Then the General levels a hard look at Liam and Ryan. “We’ve never seen a detainee exhibit behavior like this; therefore, the problem is clearly with Barnes, not with the detainment conditions. If—”

“Sir, we’ve never had a detainee with Barnes’ disabilities. I think the conditions in—”

Ross glares at Ryan. “Do _not_ interrupt me again, Sergeant.”

When Ryan snaps his mouth shut, Ross transfers his gaze back to the monitors where Barnes is huddled under his blanket. “Barnes was able to manipulate Major Cheng into believing this nonsense, which is why the Major has been relieved of his command. If the two of you are just as susceptible to his manipulations, then I’ll have no choice but to reassign you.”

That’s when Liam can’t hold his tongue any longer. “Sir, with all due respect—he’s not faking. There’s no way. He—”

That’s when Ryan interrupts. “Sir, he’s been urinating on himself for days, he’s barely eating and he’s getting weaker everyday. He’s gonna die if he keeps this up and he ain’t stupid enough to do this to himself deliberately.”

Ross is silent for a moment, staring at the monitor. Liam is expecting another immediate denial or dismissal, but Ross stays silent for a while. Then: “This has been going on for about two weeks?”

“Yes, sir.”

More silent staring. Then: “You are not to change your interactions with Barnes unless he’s in medical distress.”

Ryan opens his mouth, no doubt to point out that Barnes’ current situation should be classified as medical distress, but Ross turns and strides out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

Liam has no idea if their intervention will prove helpful for Barnes, but all he can do is hope. It seemed as if the General had had a slight change of heart, but it’s always impossible to tell what that man is thinking. For Barnes’ sake, Liam really hopes that he’s taking the situation more seriously.

*             *             *

After taking a few days to get readjusted to being at home and being free, Steve is ready to have a longer phone call with Sam. He’d called Sam after his conversation with Natasha, but he hadn’t had enough energy to go through the whole story again or to tell Sam details about the detainment. Sam had completely understood and he’d been grateful just to hear Steve’s voice and to know that he’s okay—relatively speaking.

But now he’s finally strong enough to talk to Sam about everything.

They spend hours on the phone together with Steve doing a lot of crying and yelling, depending on what part of the story he’s telling. He shares more details about the day SHIELD had taken them away—it seems like it happened years ago, not just a month ago—and his entire detainment, and then lets Sam rant and rave about how much he hates SHIELD and Ross and everybody else connected with this whole thing.

In the middle of his story, Sam stops him to ask a question which actually stumps Steve:

How did SHIELD know that Bucky was learning braille?

Steve blinks. That’s…that’s a great question. Sure, they sometimes have SHIELD agents tailing them, but that’s usually just on testing days and Bucky isn’t reading braille out on the street. So how did they know? He has no idea how SHIELD found out, so he makes a mental note to ask Natasha about it later. Once he’s off the phone with Sam, he asks her about it and she doesn’t disappoint.

“Oh, I have more than an idea. I know exactly how SHIELD figured it out. I even know why SHIELD didn’t figure it out earlier.”

“Huh?”

She makes a face where she’s refilling Maggie’s food dispenser with seeds. “Don’t be angry, okay?”

He stares at her suspiciously. “What did you do?”

“I knew SHIELD would probably spy on you through your computers, so I installed software on your computers and your phone that prevented them from accurately spying on you. I didn’t tell you because I—”

Steve waves that away. “No, I’m glad you didn’t. I had no idea the bastards were spying on us electronically and I would have just gotten upset and paranoid.”

“Exactly. And the internet’s helped you guys with so much, so I didn’t want you worrying over what you were looking up.”

“So you prevented SHIELD from spying on us? That’s fantastic!” He grins at her and drains the rest of his strawberry-flavored nutritional drink.

She grins as she closes the bag of seeds and puts it beneath the cage. “No, Rogers. I said I stopped SHIELD from _accurately_ spying on you guys. If I had blocked them completely, they would have known and tried to get past the blocks. I let them see what I wanted them to see.”

“Which was what?”

“You looking up random 21st century things on the internet. The program I made picked random words and phrases from the second half of the 21st century and made it seem like you were looking stuff up at random times. For an outsider who doesn’t know you, it would have looked believable. But your actual activities stayed blocked from them. I’m sure that’s why they didn’t realize you were looking up braille related websites earlier, and I think it’s why you were able to fool them into thinking Buck doesn’t know ASL fingerspelling.”

Steve frowns and slumps back against the couch. “So how did they figure out we were learning braille?”

“You went to HKNC, didn’t you? For braille lessons.”

“Yeah, but I would have noticed if somebody was tailing us. The place is in the middle of nowhere and SHIELD agents would have really stood out.”

“They didn’t have to go inside. They would have seen where you guys were going and then called HKNC later and asked what you were doing there. It’s just a resource center and you guys weren’t doing anything confidential. If SHIELD identified themselves as government officials who were looking into the resources Bucky was accessing, it would have seemed legitimate enough for them to answer the questions.”

Steve sighs. Damn. That seems like a strong possibility.

In fact, it makes sense. He’d looked up braille information months ago, but they’d only gone to HKNC a few days before they’d been detained. But before he can let himself dwell on getting angry at SHIELD—which serves no purpose—he realizes what Natasha had done for them. “You realize you could have been accused of committing treason by interfering with SHIELD’s monitoring, right?”

She shrugs while she’s re-attaching Maggie’s food dispenser to the walls of the cage and latching the door shut. “When it comes to you guys, there’s very little I wouldn’t do.”

Grinning, Steve puts down the plastic bottle, gets off the couch and wraps his arms around her from behind, hugging her tight. “Thank you, Nat. You know we love you too, right? Me and Buck.”

She turns in his arms and wraps her arms around him, squeezing hard. “I know.” Then she sighs softly into Steve’s neck.

Steve knows what the sigh is for. The sound of the sigh had brought an immediate lump to his own throat. “We’ll get him out, Nat. You said we can do it, so we will. We’ll bring Buck home and we’ll spend the rest of our lives helping him get better.”

*             *             *

Now that Steve’s back to feeling like himself again, he focuses on getting ready for Bucky to come home. He doesn’t let himself dwell on when that will be. Every day, he reminds himself that Natasha and Matthew are working as hard as they can and they’ll get Bucky out.

There’s only one thing Steve insisted on Matthew abiding by: nobody is signing any new contract until Bucky is out of detainment and has had plenty of time to think things over. Matthew had agreed with Steve that signing the new contract isn’t a legal requirement for getting Bucky out of detainment. He and Natasha are working on convincing Ross to let Bucky out and then having a meeting a few weeks later where they can discuss the contract and have Bucky sign it, once he agrees with the terms. Ross, Natasha and Matthew are busy working out what they believe the fair terms will be, but it’ll be up to Bucky to make the final decision.

A few days ago, Natasha had told him that she noticed Ross had suddenly become more agreeable to things and was available for meetings more than before, but he’s still being stubborn about the new contract conditions, so it’s a work in progress. Ross is still convinced Bucky is a threat to public safety, despite Natasha trying to educate him about Bucky’s disabilities and different types of braille.

Steve knows he’d completely lose his temper if he has to deal with the man, so he’s very happy to leave that with Natasha. After all, Steve has his own things to do. He needs to be strong and healthy so he can help Bucky when he comes home.

He spends lots of time with Maggie and goes out for a long walk each day. It’s so wonderful feeling the sun on his face, listening to the birds chirping and seeing the beautiful green leaves on the trees and the bushes. The first time he goes out, he gets a lump in his throat, knowing that Bucky would be so happy to be out here with him, but then he realizes those thoughts aren’t productive. He focuses on walking and then running, getting his body back to complete health so he’ll be strong enough to help Bucky when he comes home.

Because he will come home. There aren’t any other options. If Natasha can’t do it legally, they’ll break Bucky out and go on the run. She had pointed out that if the three of them are together, they’ll be able to make it work.

He’s unbelievably grateful for Natasha’s presence. She keeps living with him and makes sure he’s eating right and exercising, and when she hears him sobbing into his pillow during his second night at home, she comes into the bedroom and comforts him until he falls asleep. Sleeping alone is something Steve hasn’t been able to get used to again, and Natasha is observant enough to realize that, so she starts sharing the bed with him, providing a welcome presence the same way Steve’s ma and Bucky always had, even before he and Bucky became intimate with each other. Every day, Steve asks his ma to watch over Bucky and give him the strength to get through another day.

Exercising, cooking and spending time with Maggie takes up some of his day, but he quickly realizes that he needs to stay very busy if he wants to avoid spending all his time thinking about Bucky and being glum.

It occurs to him that it’s fine for Natasha and him to share the bed right now, but when Bucky comes home, they won’t all fit comfortably on it. Steve doesn’t like the idea of Natasha going back to sleeping on the couch, so he makes it his personal project to get her something better.

He orders a pull-out couch that looks and will hopefully feel similar to their old one. Once it arrives, he spends the rest of the day carefully installing the music transducers which he’d removed from the old couch before giving it to the delivery men.

Natasha is thrilled with the pull-out bed and Steve is glad she’s happy with it, but he’s quietly sad about the thought of losing his bedmate. But to his relief, Natasha sticks to their night-time routine without Steve having to bring it up. Before they fall asleep, she gently kicks him in the shin and tells him to stop thinking stupid thoughts.

“The pull-out will be fine by itself until Buck comes home, Rogers.”

His brain takes a few days to be fully back on track. It slowly occurs to him his life—and Bucky’s life—have involved a lot of different moving parts, and being forced to abandon those lives means he has to do a lot more work to get things back on track than he thought.

He checks his online accounts and sees that Natasha had used her own funds to pay their bills. Of course, every single bill had been fully paid on time and none of their service providers or their landlord have any reason to believe that Steve and Bucky have been gone for a month.

So the first thing Steve does is send Natasha a money transfer to pay her back, and when she fusses about it and threatens to reject the transfer, he promises to keep sending it and to be a complete annoyance until she agrees to take the money back. Her excuse that she’s been living at the apartment too and thus, she should be responsible for some of the bills go in one of Steve’s ears and promptly out the other.

“You’re family, Nat. That means we don’t track of who pays for what, but in our current situation, it’s our agreement that my salary pays for this apartment and everything in it. If you wanna buy your own food, fine. But just cause you were here when I wasn’t don’t mean that it still ain’t my responsibility, just like when Buck is home alone, he ain’t suddenly responsible for a portion of rent, electric and internet, right?”

As soon as he’d finished saying that, that stupid, paranoid voice in his head says that maybe he should have said ‘when Buck _was_ home alone’…but he refuses to give in to those thoughts. Bucky will come home. That’s just a fact. He’ll come home and they’ll get their lives back. But in order to make things as easy for Bucky as possible, he needs to get everything organized.

He contacts Leon and leaves him a voicemail message—and Leon calls him back two minutes later, sounding absolutely frantic. He’d received a message from Sam about Bucky and Steve having been permanently detained and he’d been going crazy trying to think of how to help them while knowing that he couldn’t do anything.

Steve smiles, feeling overwhelmed at Leon’s kindness. “It’s fine, Leon. I always knew Nat would get us out.”

“So Bucky’s still in detainment?”

The smile abruptly slides off Steve’s face and his heart starts aching again. “Yeah. Nat’s working on getting him out and she’s absolutely positive that she can get him out soon.”

“Steve, you know he might be in rough shape when he comes home.”

Steve clenches his jaw and struggles to keep his emotions at bay. “I know. I’m—I’m gonna get prepared for that. I wanted to let you know that I don’t know when Buck and I will be ready for new sessions, but I—”

“Don’t worry about that, Steve. You do what you have to do to get yourself and Bucky safe and healthy, and if you feel that either of you could benefit from my assistance in any way, you have my number. And I don’t just mean for therapy sessions—if there’s anything you feel that I can do to help, let me know.”

A lump grows in Steve’s throat and he has to swallow twice before responding. “Thank you, Leon. That means the world to me and I know it would mean the world to Buck.”

*             *             *

On a whim, Steve decides to check on his blog. He doubts anybody has really noticed or cared about his absence, but to his surprise, he sees multiple messages from people he’d chatted with on the deafblind forum and his blog who had expressed their concern that he hadn’t updated in a while and wondered if he and ‘B’ are alright.

It makes Steve’s heart glow to realize that he’s made quite a few friends since Bucky had come home from the hospital, even ones who he’d never met face to face. Making friends on the internet had always struck him as strange. The concept had been completely alien to him, but he’s slowly gotten used to it. And the fact that his internet friends had noticed his absence and had taken the time to express their concerns means the world to him.

Steve responds to the comments and explains that he and ‘B’ had been busy with an emergency situation but hopefully, things will sort themselves out soon. He doesn’t want to get into details. On one hand, if Natasha Romanov tells him that she made it impossible for SHIELD to spy on him through his computer, then there’s no chance of it happening, but on the other hand, his internet friends don’t need to know the details about the detainment and it’s safer for them not to know. He explains that Bucky’s dealing with a medical situation—which isn’t a complete lie—and Steve won’t have time to update his blog until things have calmed down.

Once that’s done, Steve thinks about what else he needs to do to catch up. His eyes roam around the apartment and catch on one of Bucky’s little knit squares that sits beneath the pen-and-spoon-holder cup on his desk. The squares don’t have much use, but whenever Bucky’s experimenting with different colour combinations, he makes little squares to show Steve and then Steve will decide if the colours seem okay or not. That abruptly reminds him:

Bucky’s knitting store! Oh, Jesus!

Spinning back to the computer, Steve quickly pulls up the online store. He doesn’t know what would be worse—being confronted by dozens of placed orders that have been waiting for confirmation and being confronted by angry customers, or not having received any orders in the last month.

What he actually finds is a nice, polite message on the top of the store’s webpage, explaining that Bucky is currently unable to take orders, but the store will be open again soon. He certainly didn’t put that message on there.

Blinking, Steve checks on other things in the store and finds that the store fees have been paid, and the handful of orders which had been waiting to be filled before SHIELD had ruined everything, had their money refunded and a nice message had been sent to the customers, apologizing for the inconvenience and informing them of the refund.

Smiling, Steve sits back against his computer chair. Thank God for Natasha Romanov. He glances skyward and grins. He has no doubt his ma had pulled some big strings to get Natasha to bother befriending him six years ago when he’d come out of the ice.

Once Natasha comes home from a grocery store trip, he doesn’t even wait for her to put the bags down, he just picks her up—bags and all—and gives her a tight hug.

She’s laughing. “What’s this for? It’s not for the groceries, because I’ll admit right now: I forgot to get you blueberry yoghurt.”

“I don’t care about the yoghurt, Nat.” Putting her down he takes the bags out of her hands, puts them on the floor and squeezes her hands. “You took care of Bucky’s store.”

She smiles and shrugs. “Of course I did. I wish I knew how to knit so I could have filled those orders, but I figured I wouldn’t make the deadline anyway and I had other things that were higher priority. I could have figured it out, but in between all the other things—”

Steve presses his fingers against her lips. “Hush. You did more than enough. Paying the fees and putting the store in vacation mode means the store won’t be shut down.”

But now that Steve is no longer worried about the store’s current status, he starts to feel sad about how this whole thing will impact the store’s long-term success. Bucky had been so excited about the store and they’d been doing well. Not fantastic, but well enough. And Bucky had loved every minute of it.

And now, every day that’s going by is another day that their previous momentum slows. He hates the idea that SHIELD will have ruined Bucky’s life so completely! Yes, in the grand scheme of things, having ‘Knitting on the Q’ being impacted by SHIELD stupidity isn’t very high on Steve’s priority list, but for some reason, he’s stuck on it.

SHIELD has cost Bucky his little business! They took away his freedom, his rights, hopefully not his sanity—but that’s something Steve has to prepare for—and now, they’ve also taken away his store.

It’s stupid, but Steve suddenly bursts into tears. The grief he feels for what Bucky has lost and the fact that he’s still suffering, all alone in a cell, in the darkness and silence—is overwhelming.

Natasha grabs his face with both hands. “Hey. Hey, hey, hey. What’s going on?”

“I—It’s just—It’s stupid,” he chokes out, tears streaming down his face.

“No, it’s not. Tell me. Is it about Bucky’s store? You’re upset that he was doing so well and now it’s…on hold?”

Steve can barely breathe. “On hold? It’s probably ruined completely. Just like Bucky will be. And Buck’s never done anything to SHIELD and they’re doing this for such a stupid reason! They have no right to do this!”

“I know. Steve, listen to me. We’re gonna fix this, okay? We’re gonna get Buck out and we’re gonna help him recover.”

“But what if he never gets back to where he was when they took us away?”

She gives him a light smack on his cheek and gives him a hard look. “First of all, I want you to think positive. You know how important that is. You need to stay positive and focused and you can’t be a sad lump because that’s not gonna help Buck, right?”

All Steve can do in response is to keep crying, because he’s ridiculous.

She sighs softly. “I wish I had Barnes’ talent for cheering you up and making you see the brighter side of things, but the two of us are the worst people for things like that, aren’t we?” She lowers her hands and glances around for a moment, lost in thought. Finally she raises her eyebrows. “Okay, I got it. First of all, you gotta stop crying. I can’t concentrate when you’re crying, you know that.”

Sniffing hard, Steve squeezes his eyes shut and wills himself to calm down. He’s being completely ridiculous. Bucky is currently being tortured, and Steve is standing here, in his own home, free to do what he wants, not being tortured, and he’s crying.

Wiping the tears off his cheeks, he gives Natasha a firm nod. “Okay.”

“Alright. If you wanna give Bucky a head start with getting his store back, you can do it yourself. You can knit, you know how to run the store and you guys already bought the supplies you need anyway, right?”

Steve thinks it over. She’s right. Steve can get the store back up and running, and by the time Bucky’s ready to get back to it, things will be back where they were before.

Hopefully.

She grins at him. “Okay, good. Help me put the groceries away, make us dinner and then we’ll see if some of the people I refunded are still interested in getting their orders done. If they are, then I’ll handle the computer stuff and you do the knitting.”

“D-deal,” he manages to choke out, still sniffing and struggling to keep it together. Looking down at the bags at Natasha’s feet, he bends down and grabs a few of them and heads to the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re interested in reading a little 'pick-me-up' after this chapter, I just posted a new one-shot, called [‘Running Backwards’](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15862521). It's not exactly fluff, but Bucky's having a better time in that then in this chapter, and it's got a happy ending.


	94. Chapter 94

Natasha’s suggestion to get ‘Knitting on the Q’ back up and running is exactly what Steve needs. There’s only so much time he can spend each day exercising, cooking—Natasha does most of the chores as long as Steve does the cooking,—spending time with Maggie and getting things ready for Bucky to come home.

He’s still left with many hours to spend by himself while Natasha’s off negotiation with SHIELD, and thankfully, knitting takes up a lot of his time. And spending time by himself with nothing to do isn’t in his best interest. He always ends up staring off into space, feeling worried and sick over how Bucky’s suffering while Steve is sitting here and can’t do anything to help get him out quicker. Keeping himself busy makes time go by faster and keeps him focused.

They decide that Natasha will take over Employee-Steve’s normal duties while Steve will do the knitting. She starts by emailing all of the clients she had refunded, asking them if they’re still interested in having their orders fulfilled.

Right after Natasha sends off the emails, Steve is sitting on the couch, staring at the television without really caring about what he’s watching. He’s about to get up and grabbing the knitting supplies so he can do some practice knitting and keep his brain from spiraling, when he hears a buzz from Natasha’s phone. She’d left it sitting on the coffee table and when he hears the buzz, Steve leans over to see if he can tell her what the noise means.

But of course, Natasha’s phone doesn’t have those fancy little bubbles that pop up on Steve’s phone, telling him if he missed a call, or if he got a text or email. In fact, her screen remains black and Steve is pretty sure that if he touches it the wrong way, he’ll get electrocuted, so he leaves it on the table.

But the fact that her phone had buzzed almost immediately after she’d said that she’d finished sending off the emails, makes Steve pause and stare suspiciously at the back of her head, where she’s sitting at his computer desk.

It reminds him of his suspicions that Natasha is posing as one or more of the clients who had ordered from Bucky’s store. Of course, there are a million reasons why Natasha’s phone had buzzed, and the chance that one of the refunded customers was Natasha herself—with another fake name—is slim. Why would she place an order, refund herself the money and then ask herself if she wants another order?

Well, if she thinks that Steve doesn’t know about the whole thing, that might explain why she’s continuing with the charade…

…if the whole thing is a charade at all.

There’s no doubt that some of their customers have been real. He’s seen the blanket in Leon’s office himself and he remembers a ‘Mrs. Kathleen Powell’ placing that order. But there have to be more genuine customers than that. He just can’t imagine Natasha spending so much time making fake online identities, paying with different credit cards and having random knitted items shipped all over the world.

In truth, he’s never had anything but his own suspicions, but he thinks it’s time to get to the bottom of it. If most of their customers are just Natasha, then Steve needs to spend more time advertising and less time knitting stuff that Natasha doesn’t really need.

“Nat?”

“Hmmm?”

“Are you Erica Lombiso?”

She doesn’t even turn around. “What are you talking about? Is that a joke from the TV show? I haven’t been paying attention—rewind it and turn up the volume.”

Steve sits up, letting his feet thump to the floor. “No. Bucky’s very first order for his store. It came from somebody called Erica Lombiso. And I can’t believe that Bucky got three orders when his store was up for less than 24 hours. Don’t get me wrong—I love Buck and I love the things he makes, but he don’t make things that are really that much better than other people’s. Knitting with wool is knitting with wool. As long as the results ain’t terrible, there ain’t much difference from one thing to another, especially to most folks. He can’t do real fancy things with the looms anyway, so his stuff is pretty average. It’s great quality, but average.”

She’s still typing on the computer and doesn’t bother turning around. “The internet is huge, Steve. Weird things happen all the time. Normal things can go viral in just a few seconds.”

“Yeah. Viral things. Things that are unique and weird, not ordinary knitting stores.”

He keeps staring at the back of her head. He knows she knows that if she decides to lie, Steve probably won’t be able to tell that she’s lying. There’s also the chance that this was all truly a coincidence. But if it’s not, Steve is hoping that she won’t lie to him.

Slowly, her fingers stop tapping on the keyboard and her shoulders appear to slump just a tiny bit.

So he was right. He doesn’t know if that makes him feel good or bad.

Glancing over her shoulder at him, she’s chewing on her lower lip, an uncharacteristic outward sign of nervousness. “Don’t be mad, okay? I did it for Buck.”

Sending her a mock-glare, Steve shakes his head at her, but he can’t keep the smile off his face. “How many were you?”

“What?”

“How many of our customers are really you?”

She spins her chair around and holds up her hands. “Only the first three, I promise. Honestly, I was going to put in a new order if none of these other customers wanted to redo their orders so you’d have something to focus on, but I haven’t done any since those first three. I overplayed it though, didn’t I?”

He chuckles. “Three orders in less than 24 hours?”

She makes a face. “Yeah, I realized I got overeager right after I sent the third order, but I couldn’t take them back without breaking Buck’s heart. I was just so excited to see him excited, you know?”

Steve nods. The reminder that they’re talking about Bucky’s store and that Bucky is currently sitting in a dark, silent cell and suffering brings those feelings of anxiety and fear right back for Steve.

He doesn’t want to start crying again, so he focuses back on the conversation. Bucky will come home soon. Bucky will come home soon. Bucky will—“So you put in the orders and paid for them and then what? Did you donate the stuff when you got it? And wasn’t Erica from Australia? I definitely remembering bringing her hat to the post office and mailing it to Australia.”

She waves a hand. “I have dozens of PO boxes all over the world. But I didn’t just make the orders to keep Bucky busy. I knew word of mouth would really help and I knew neither of you guys would be prepared to wander around the street and shout about your business, so I did.”

“You did not wander around Australia, shouting about Buck’s store.”

She chuckles. “No. Not my style. First of all, I didn’t go to Australia at all. I have a friend there who checks my PO box for me and I asked her if she wanted the hat when it arrived. She liked it, so I told her it was a promotional item and for payment, she needed to put a review on the store about how much she liked the hat and she had to tell 10 people about the store. I did the same thing with the other items I bought.”

Thinking back, Steve realizes that all three people had left glowing reviews, and that their business had steadily increased after those first three orders. “That was smart, Nat.”

She raises an eyebrow. “I have my moments.” She glances at him, looking a bit worried. “You’re not mad? I know Buck really wanted to do this on his own, but I thought it would be so important for him to get orders right away and—”

Steve sighs. “No, I agree. But if it’s okay with you, we’ll just keep this from Buck, okay?”

“I’m fine with that. Except those first three, all the other orders came from genuine customers anyway.”

Nodding, Steve is again caught in that downward spiral, thinking about how much momentum Bucky’s little store had gathered, and how big of a blow this stupid SHIELD situation is.

But Natasha helps to provide a distraction when something catches her eye on the computer and she spins back to face it. She clicks on a few things, then she throws a grin his way. “One person—a genuine customer, not me, I swear—wants his order done. Can you do it?”

This is exactly the distraction he needs so he won’t start crying again. “Yup.” Standing up, he goes to the shelf and grabs his knitting needles and Bucky’s basket of wool.

When he passes Natasha on his way back to the shelf, he shifts the basket on his hip and presses a kiss to her head. “Thank you, Nat. Not just for helping now, but for those first three orders.”

She smiles up at him as he wanders back to the couch. “I don’t think Buck would thank me about those orders.”

“Probably not, which is why we’ll never mention this again, okay?”

“Absolutely.”

Sitting down, Steve opens his laptop so he can take a look at what items the customer had ordered. It’s a very simple order: just one scarf with no tassles. It’ll be a quick job. Picking out his wool, Steve leans against the couch and gets ready to work.

Despite not having knit for a few months, his hands settle into the familiar rhythm quickly. It’s soothing and keeps him focused. He knows he’ll finish the scarf within a few hours, and those are a few hours which he won’t spend with his heart aching with fear over Bucky’s well-being.

While he knits, he constantly reminds himself that he’s doing this so Bucky will get his life back as quickly as possible when he comes home.

*             *             *

The next day, another one of Bucky’s customers replies to Natasha’s email and informs her that she’d like to proceed with her order too.

After Steve is done exercising and taking care of Maggie, he brings her to the couch on her pillow and sets her down on the coffee table as he grabs the knitting basket from underneath the table and gets set up for the new order.

To his surprise, Natasha walks over to the shelf, grabs a spare pair of knitting needles and comes to sit next to him. “Teach me,” she says.

Steve gets his needles set up and starts working on the scarf he’s knitting. He doesn’t need to watch what his hands are doing, so he can raise eyebrows at Natasha and continue knitting. “What? Why?”

“Because when Bucky comes home, you’re going to be busy with him. I can fill orders if you teach me how to knit.”

“Nat, you don’t gotta—”

“You’re wasting time, Rogers. Let’s go.” She leans over and grabs a ball of wool from his basket.

Steve’s hands have paused and he’s gaping at her. “You’re serious.”

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous, I’m obviously never serious. Now hurry up and start teaching.”

*             *             *

Aside from getting himself and their other affairs back on track, filling Bucky’s knitting orders and teaching Natasha how to knit, Steve prepares himself for the second worst case scenario. The first worst case scenario is not being able to get Bucky out soon and having to break him out, but the second worst case scenario is if Bucky’s mind has badly deteriorated from the weeks of being by himself.

It had been enough of a struggle for Steve to keep his own mental health on track while in detainment, but most of the activities Steve had used in the cell aren’t ones that are accessible for Bucky. The lack of external stimulation is probably very difficult for him and Steve hopes that he’s managing to keep it together, but he knows that he needs to expect the worst.

Steve already knows a bit about sensory deprivation, he knows what Bucky’s like and how his disabilities affect him and Steve does his own research, but his biggest assistance comes from Sam’s advice.

Sam has counselled a few POV vets who had dealt with solitary confinement and sensory deprivation during their captivity, but even Sam admits that he’s never met anybody who had to endure what Bucky’s been dealing with.

He has many suggestions for Steve regarding how to act when Bucky comes home and when he’ll need to call for professional help. Steve contacts Cecilia Wong at HKNC and confirms that she’s standing by in case he’ll need help getting Bucky medical assistance or long-term care.

Steve’s heart had nearly stopped when Sam had first mentioned the possibility of ‘long-term care’ (and that Steve needs to prepare for it), but he refuses to let the fear of those words take hold. He has a job to do and he needs to stay focused on that.

It feels as if Steve gets to make up for the time when Bucky had come home from the hospital. Of course, back then, Steve hadn’t known what Bucky had done so getting prepared ahead of time hadn’t been possible. But now Steve does have the time to get prepared and he refuses to waste his time with crying and missing Bucky. Instead, he needs to use his time productively.

While Natasha is having meetings with Ross and Matthew, Steve is getting everything set up at home.

He buys more of the nutritional drinks and Bucky’s favourite snacks. He prepares huge portions of Bucky’s favourite food and puts them in the freezer so if he’s too busy with Bucky to cook for a few days, Bucky can still eat his favourite food. While Bucky’s fond of some of the new food they order from restaurants, Steve knows this will be a time for old favourites, like potato cakes and onion soup.

It had occurred to him and Sam that Bucky will need lots of sensory stimulation, but if he’s not fully on board with physical contact from Steve, then he’ll need something else. Bucky has plenty of toys and gadgets around the apartment to provide tactile stimulation, but if he’s not in a good mental place, Steve doubts he’ll be able to do his art projects, practice braille or do his knitting. Even his block building may be too much for the first while. So Steve gets creative and figures out what items in the apartment can provide safe tactile stimulation without requiring lots of input from the user.

He also follows Sam’s suggestion to put lots of thought into what to bring with him when it’s time to pick Bucky up.

In case Bucky is aware enough of his surroundings to move as independently as he normally can, Steve will bring his cane, but he also wants to bring Bucky something that he’ll recognize as being his and coming from home. He can’t bring Maggie and he doesn’t want to bring something generic like a hat that Bucky had knit, but he picks different items which are meaningful for Bucky and are distinct enough that Bucky will hopefully recognize them. And even if Bucky doesn’t recognize the items, they’ll provide some tactile stimulation for him.

Steve’s been home for a week by the time Natasha calls him while she’s supposed to be in another meeting with Ross and Matthew.

She sounds breathless and equally nervous and excited. “Steve? Get into a cab and get over here. They’re releasing him.”

Something in his chest burst and Steve is off the couch so fast that his laptop nearly hits the floor. He manages to grab it and put it on the coffee table.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He hangs up the phone, stuffs it into his pocket and races into the kitchen to fill Bucky’s water bottle. Then he’s at the door, stuffing his feet into his shoes and putting the water bottle into the backpack which they usually take on their outdoor adventures. The bag has sat by the door, filled with all of his carefully prepared items, ready for this phone call. He grabs the keys off the hook and flies out the door, locking it behind him.

He bounds out of the building, leaps down the steps and runs into the street, barely avoiding being hit by a car and frantically scans the street for a hackie. Seeing one a few blocks over, he shrugs on the backpack and sprints down the blocks, waving his arms and whistling to get the hackie’s attention.

While he runs, there’s only one thought in his head:

We’re coming, Buck. We’re coming. Just hang on a little bit longer.

*             *             *

The Shadow Monsters have started losing interest in him. Either that, or Bucky’s become numb to their grabbing and scratching. Fighting them off is exhausting and he only does it when they get too close to his face.

It takes too much effort to smack them away and sometimes he doesn’t even manage to lift his hand by the time they leave. It takes much less energy to just tolerate them and wait for them to leave him alone.

He thinks he’s spending a lot of time sleeping. He _thinks_ because he doesn’t know for sure. There’s very little difference between his waking and his sleeping hours, and he’s so tired that he feels like he’s sleeping even when he knows he’s eating or drinking water from the sink. The constant darkness makes it even more difficult to distinguish between sleeping and being awake.

His brain is also very, very slow. He’ll often think of a simple word, like ‘muffin’, and he won’t know what it means. Or maybe he knows what it means, but it sounds like a weird, nonsense word that people shouldn’t be using. The word will just circle around and around in his head for hours for no apparent reason.

Randomly, the Shadow Monsters will touch his face or scratch his leg extra hard and Bucky will get a short burst of adrenalin that gives him the strength to focus and fight them off, but those bursts don’t last very long anymore.

He spends most of his time just sitting there, doing nothing. Maybe he’s sleeping, maybe not. His brain is empty, his body is numb and if the Shadow Monsters want to keep grabbing his elbow, they can go ahead and do that.


	95. Chapter 95

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a double-chapter update and the chapters are long. Let’s get Bucky home!

As Steve hurries down the detainment center corridor with Natasha on his heels, they barely manage to stay behind the guard who’s leading the way to Bucky’s cell. It’s the same guard who’d released him a week ago and he doesn’t seem to understand the urgency of the situation.

Natasha had called him again while he’d been in the hackie and given him more information. They had convinced Ross to release Bucky and let him go home without a new contract being in place. Due to Bucky’s current mental state, he can’t consent to a new contract and he needs to recover before the question of having him legally sign anything can even be considered. The arguing over how long the recovery period should be took a few days, but they’d finally reached an agreement: Bucky will have two weeks to recover.

During those two weeks SHIELD will not be allowed to contact either Steve or Bucky, but they’ll be posting a guard right outside their apartment building. Bucky and Steve will be allowed to walk outside within a one block radius, but no further. Steve is fine with those terms. He knows it’s all just temporary.

The contract which Bucky will hopefully agree to sign once he’s recovered doesn’t have any of the stupid restrictions from Ross’ other offers. The new contract will be simple: Bucky will agree to remain permanently deafblind in order to prevent himself from being triggered, and SHIELD will leave them alone. No more testing, no more spying, no more restrictions.

Natasha had told him that Ross isn’t overly happy with those terms and they’re going to continue negotiating while Bucky recovers, but she had finally gotten Ross to admit that keeping Bucky locked up and allowing his mental condition to deteriorate even further is counter-productive. The worse he gets, the longer he’ll need for recovery, so if Ross wants this done as soon as possible, he’ll agree to release Bucky and give him two weeks to recover.

Steve isn’t even thinking about the contract right now. All he cares about is that he can finally get Bucky out of that hellhole and bring him back home. Whatever happens in two weeks will happen, but right now, he’s going to bring Bucky home.

When they stop in front of Bucky’s cell, Steve anxiously peers through the thick layers of glass and metal bars, trying to see Bucky.

The guard issues an order over his radio and there’s an electric flicker as the force field is turned off, then the bars rise out of the floor. Once the door is open, Steve frantically pushes past the guard and hops over the door frame, scanning the cell for Bucky.

The guard is apparently annoyed at Steve having pushed past him. “Rogers! You aren’t supposed to—”

“Leave him alone, Sanchez.” He hears Natasha from behind him.

The first thing Steve notices is an overwhelming smell of urine and that strong scent of somebody who hasn’t bathed in a while. It’s been years since he’s had to smell such a stench, but his brain is still accustomed enough to that scent that it doesn’t register as strange.

Steve desperately scans the cell, checking the bed and the chair for Bucky, but he’s not there. There’s no place Bucky could possibly be hiding, so Steve turns to tell the guard he’s an idiot who brought him to the wrong cell—when he spies a bundle of fabric in the corner by the door.

He immediately recognizes the fabric as being the standard issue blanket and for a moment, he thinks the guards have stripped the cell of its linens and left the pile in the corner to be taken out later. Then he sees the blanket bundle shift slightly…and the realization of what he’s really looking at hits him hard enough to nearly bring him to his knees.

He realizes he’s been physically preparing himself for Bucky to be in rough shape, but he hasn’t let that idea register in his head. Ever since he’d been released, he’d imagined this moment a hundred times, and in each scenario, Bucky would be sitting on the bed or the chair and he may look a bit haggard, but he’d be happy once he recognizes Steve.

None of those scenarios had included anything like this. He’d prepared for the worst, but he realizes he’s really been expecting the best. He knows what Sam had told him and what his own research had told him, but he’d always just assumed that none of that would become reality.

This…this is so much worse than he’d thought it would be and he hasn’t even seen Bucky yet.

The fact that the stench is coming from Bucky shocks Steve to the core. The stench in the cell may not have been out of place in their youth, but he knows Bucky Barnes would never allow himself to get into such a state when he has an unlimited supply of running water and soap within a few feet of him.

He hurries to the blanket pile and kneels in front of it, letting the backpack slide off his shoulders. “Buck? It’s me.”

Knowing his voice is useless in this situation, Steve gently touches one of the bumps he can see under the blanket. He realizes it’s one of Bucky’s knees, but before he can search for Bucky’s hand, Bucky moves under the blanket, his knees shifting to move away from Steve’s hand. Out of instinct, Steve tightens his grip on Bucky’s knee, knowing he has to find his hand if Bucky’s ever going to recognize him.

That turns out to be the wrong move, because Bucky’s hand sneaks out from under the blanket, shaking and filthy, and it weakly bats at Steve’s hand, trying to make him let go.

The hits are weak, but it’s clear what the message is: Bucky doesn’t want anybody touching him.

*             *             *

Bucky had been dozing for a while before the Shadow Monsters got aggressive enough to wake him up. They don’t touch his knees a lot, but today is apparently one of those days. Shifting his knee usually dislodges them, but this Shadow Monster is insistent and tightens its clawed grip.

When more shifting doesn’t get it off, Bucky takes a deep breath, musters up his energy and brings his hand out from under the blanket to smack the hand away. He hits it as hard as he can, and eventually the hand withdraws and Bucky’s hand flops to the ground.

It takes immense energy to bring his hand back underneath the blanket and he feels completed exhausted from that small amount of work.

It’s definitely time for another nap.

Unfortunately, the stupid Shadow Monsters have other ideas. He feels something nudging against his ankle, but it doesn’t feel like a hand. At least it’s not trying to grab him.

He shifts his foot to get rid of it, but that’s not comfortable and when he brings his foot back to its original position, he feels that the thing is still there. It’s not moving anymore, so that’s good. But he doesn’t want mysterious things—even non-Shadow Monster related things—under his blanket.

Reaching down, Bucky feels across the floor for the object, intending on pushing it out from under his blanket, but when he grabs it, it feels…familiar?

It’s a disc shape, cold and metallic and there’s a long strand of small beads attached to it. Those are interesting to touch, but what really catches his attention is the face of the disc. There are raised lines and two little balls on it. He runs his fingers over the surface, wondering why it feels so familiar. His brain is slow these days, but come on, Barnes! Think!

Finally, he realizes that he knows what this is. He knows exactly what this is! It’s something he’s touched a hundred times and even in his sleep-deprived and unfocused state, he knows with absolute certainty that this is what he thinks it is.

It’s his watch.

His wonderful, amazing watch that Steve had bought for him.

He smiles, feeling a thrill of happiness run through him. What a nice present! What a very, very nice present! But wait a second…why are the Shadow Monsters giving him presents?!

What if this isn’t a present? What if they’re trying to coax him out from under his blankets?

Growing worried, Bucky is torn over whether to push the watch away, or to bring it closer to him to keep it safe. But his body moves before his mind does, and his hand tightens its grip on his watch. He doesn’t want to lose his watch, even if it means putting up with more scratching. His watch will let him know what time it is and his watch can keep him company.

He wants to sob at the thought of having that small amount of stimulation back in his dark, silent world. The little balls will always be moving and he’ll be able to keep track of their journey as they trace the hours and minutes of each day. It’ll be wonderful!

His mind made up, he carefully pulls the watch closer. He considers keeping it in his lap, but realizes that will make it easy to steal. There’s a reason Steve attached that wonderful string of beads to it.

Moving slowly, he manages to pull the watch over his head without dislodging his blanket. Feeling the watch against his shirt and the beads around his neck feels so nice and familiar that it almost makes him cry. _Almost_ because he’s too dehydrated to cry properly.

He touches his watch for a while, feeling happy for the first time in a long time. But he’s rudely torn out of his little bubble of contentment when he feels a hand gently touch his ankle.

Stupid Shadow Monsters! Now Bucky has to pay the price for having accepted the watch. Damn it! But he already knows he’ll fight them with whatever strength he has left to keep his watch.

Bucky shifts his foot away from the hand, but the hand follows. He gets ready to kick at the hand when it gets aggressive—which he knows it will—but to his surprise, the hand doesn’t grab and doesn’t scratch. It just follows his ankle, gently touching the side of his foot. Bucky takes his hand off his watch to bat at the hand, but the hand is gone before he gets there.

When his hand drops to the ground—because beating away Shadow Monsters takes a lot of energy and his hand needs to rest—he’s surprised to encounter something new on the floor. Another present?!

Exploring it carefully, he realizes it’s a strange oval shape and it’s very soft. He touches it more thoroughly and realizes it’s bendy and there’s fuzz covering the whole thing. Immediately, he knows what this is too.

It’s a leaf from his Lamb’s Ear plant! That makes him tear up—or, it would if he could cry—and he finds himself fiercely missing his plants. He can remember each of them so clearly. He loved taking care of them.

He touches the leaf. What does this mean? Did the Shadow Monsters destroy his plants and this is all that’s left of them? Is it punishment for keeping the Bears away from them? Whatever the reason, Bucky decides to keep the leaf safe in case the Shadow Monsters launch another attack. He brings it to his lap and rubs the fuzzy leaf between his fingers. Oh, this is wonderful! He has his Lamb’s Ear leaf and his watch. His days will be so much brighter now.

It’s also nice that the Shadow Monsters haven’t launched their attack yet. In fact, Bucky’s starting to find this whole thing strange. The Shadow Monsters don’t have to give him presents. Why would they? They’re angry with him and they can hurt him whenever they want. They don’t have to bribe him to get access to him.

So why is he getting presents?

The answer to that is unclear, but what’s more clear is that the presents are probably not coming from the Shadow Monsters. It doesn’t make sense for the presents to be coming from them. Somebody else must be giving him presents.

His slow musings are interrupted by that hand gently brushing his ankle again.

But this time, he finds himself less concerned and more excited by it. This hand hasn’t tried to grab or scratch him at all. In fact, since this hand has been visiting him, the Shadow Monsters haven’t made another attempt to grab his knee or any other part of him. This hand has brought him two wonderful presents and hasn’t tried to hurt him at all.

Maybe—maybe—this hand is here to help Bucky? Maybe his fervent prayers to Steve and Mrs. R have finally been answered and they sent an extra hand to help fight off the Shadow Monsters? What a nice thought! They know he only has one hand he can use to fight, so giving him another one is fantastic!

In any case, the hand has already given him two nice presents, so Bucky brings his hand down to where the strange hand is, eager to see what other presents it leaves him.

This time, the hand doesn’t leave when Bucky gets near it. That’s unexpected enough that Bucky freezes, torn between yanking his hand away and keeping it there to find out if the hand will give him more presents.

The hand doesn’t move and neither does Bucky.

Eventually, Bucky gets brave enough to touch the hand lightly. He touches the back of the hand with the tip of one finger, bracing himself for an attack—but the hand doesn’t move. That makes Bucky braver. Maybe this really is a nice hand? Maybe this really is a hand that just wants to give him presents and help him fight Shadow Monsters?

Maybe—maybe he can even talk to the hand?! Maybe he can have conversations with it and fill the silence around him? Oh, that would be swell!

Bucky lightly taps the warm skin of the hand a few more times, letting his touches get longer and firmer as he realizes that the hand isn’t responding. Encouraged, Bucky gently explores the hand, trying to learn more about this nice hand.

He can tell it’s a man’s hand, but there’s nothing identifiable about the back of it. Taking a risk, he gently grabs the thumb and flips the hand over, exploring the palm.

There’s nothing special about it.

He turns the hand back over and continues exploring. He’s about to give up and accept that the hand is just an ordinary hand—when he feels the bracelet on the hand’s wrist.

He freezes, sure that he’s imagining things. He used to dream about touching this bracelet before the Shadow Monsters invaded his dreams too much. He knows this bracelet!

But he needs to make sure. There’s no reason to jump to conclusions. The hand seems to be patient, so Bucky can take his time verifying his findings. Moving slowly, he touches the bracelet and explores it in more detail to make sure it’s really the bracelet he thinks it is.

The soft leather is a good sign, but many people have leather bracelets. But the notches in the leather are something most people don’t have. He finds the big bead embedded in the leather and runs his fingers over the engravings. His brain isn’t working very well, but his fingers know what the notches are supposed to say.

Three small circular cuts. Di, di, dit.

A long deep cut. Dah.

A small circle. Dit.

Three small circles. Di, di, dit. Follow by a long line. Dah.

Another small dot. Dit.

There’s no chance that somebody would randomly create such a specific pattern of cuts in a leather bracelet. This is Steve’s bracelet! That makes him so happy that he wants to cry. Not only does he have his watch, his leaf and the hand to keep him company, but Steve has given the hand his leather bracelet so Bucky can be reminded of Steve every day.

Oh, this is wonderful!

He wants to bring the hand to his lap so he can keep the hand and the bracelet safe—but the idea of bringing the hand—hands have claws that hurt and scratch and grab—so close to his body is very scary. He’d be exposing his body to a lot of pain and damage if he gives the hand such access.

He thinks it over for a while. Maybe the hand should stay where it is? But if this is a nice hand that’s trying to help Bucky, it’s not nice to leave it where the Shadow Monsters can get at it. So that’s not a good option either.

What about—what about if he asks the hand what its intentions are? Sure, it could lie to him, but maybe the tone of the answer will give Bucky more clues about whether this is a good situation or a bad one. Flipping the hand over, he touches the palm, familiarizing himself with the location of the fingers. He can feel that his own hand is shaking a bit, but hopefully he can still spell clearly.

He writes out: ‘No hurt’ and then adds a question mark. Even just that short sentence is exhausting to spell out, but he has no choice. He has to gather more information.

When he’s done spelling, he waits. The hand doesn’t move for a second, then very, very slowly, it starts to shift. The hand flips itself over and gently reaches for Bucky’s hand. The touch stays light and careful, and Bucky holds his breath as he exposes his palm to the hand’s fingers. He’s so scared that he’s shaking, but he clenches his jaw and forces his hand to stay still so he can properly track the letters.

Please don’t scratch, please don’t scratch, please don’t—

The hand explores his hand for a second, then it starts to spell. ‘N-E-V-E-R’.

Then there’s a break. Then it repeats the same word: ‘Never’.

That’s very reassuring to hear. But should Bucky trust the hand?

Well, has it given him any indication that it’s not trustworthy?

The answer to that is: no, not yet. And there’s also the fact that the Shadow Monsters have left him alone since the hand has arrived so it’s a good bet that the Shadow Monsters are scared of it. So bringing the hand closer to Bucky should keep them away. They can protect each other.

Sometimes life requires a leap of faith. His mind made up, he grabs the hand and brings it and the bracelet to his lap, where they’ll be safe. The hand is much heavier than he thought it would be, but he manages to bring it to his lap. The hand stays nice and limp, which is a good sign.

*             *             *

Steve grins through his tears when he feels Bucky putting his hand into his lap. He’s had to shift a little closer to Bucky when it became clear that Bucky was going to bring his hand to his lap, but he’s very careful not to touch any other part of Bucky.

The last thing he wants is for Bucky to be distracted by Steve’s knees brushing against his feet or him falling on Bucky. He has no idea what Bucky’s thinking, but the fact that he’d accepted the watch and the leaf so readily and then he’d explore the bracelet and spelled out a question are all very good signs. The content of the question hadn’t been a good sign, and that’s a whole other problem.

Steve has been managing to hold it together out of sheer determination, but when Bucky had shakily spelled out his question asking if Steve will hurt him, he hadn’t been able to keep his tears back.

“No, Buck. I’d never—I’d never hurt you. Jesus,” he’d breathed out, tears choking the words. Instead of briskly rubbing the back of Bucky’s hand—which Bucky may misinterpret as being too rough—he’d carefully spelled out ‘never’ multiple times, his heart aching as he spelled.

Natasha’s told him that Bucky’s been kept in complete isolation for the past few weeks, so Steve knows nobody from SHIELD has been physically hurting him. Maybe Bucky’s just overly fearful of his surroundings or maybe he’s been hallucinating that somebody has been hurting him.

Steve wants to pull Bucky in his arms and never let anybody or anything harm him again—but doing that right now would unravel the careful progress they’ve made so far.

Bucky is busy getting Steve’s hand settled in his lap. Steve can feel the tips of his own fingers brushing the Lamb’s Ear leaf, but he keeps his hand limp, wanting to see what Bucky’s next move will be. He’s currently kneeling on his knees on the floor and the hard tiles are digging into his knees and his back is already aching from being bent over at such an awkward angle—keeping his hand on Bucky’s lap and the rest of his body away—but he keeps his breathing even and forces himself to stay still. He just hopes that Bucky won’t fall asleep for a few hours.

“Jesus fucking Christ, would you guys hurry the fuck up?”

Steve throws the guard—Sanchez—a glare without moving the rest of his body. “We’re moving exactly as fast as we need to.”

Sanchez gives him a bored look. “Well, how long’s this gonna take? I gotta clean the cell. It’ll take forever anyway. The place stinks.”

“I don’t give a damn what you have to do. This is gonna take as long as it’ll take.” He keeps his voice low and his tone even so Bucky won’t feel the vibrations.

Sanchez lets out an annoyed sigh. “This is bullshit.”

Natasha leans forward, where she’s been sitting on the cell bed, watching Steve and Bucky. “Well, you can thank your employers for all of this. Now either shut up or go away.”

Sanchez says something in response, but Steve doesn’t pay attention. He’s confident Natasha will handle it. He needs to focus back on Bucky.

Steve’s trying to formulate a plan in his head. His goals have gradually gotten smaller as the minutes have gone by, and if it takes them hours to get Bucky out of here, so be it. But he does agree with Sanchez that they can’t stay like this forever, and he’s not even considering his own discomfort. Bucky needs to eat, he needs to drink water and he needs rest.

If Steve can’t convince Bucky to come out of the cell, then Steve will stay here with him for a few days. But he definitely wants Bucky to come out from under the blanket so he can see him. He has no idea if Bucky’s hurt himself—accidentally or deliberately—and he wants him to drink some water.

If he can’t get Bucky out from under the blanket in another ten minutes, Steve will give him the water bottle, and hopefully Bucky will figure out what it is.

In any case, Steve is determined to let Bucky move at his own pace. Things have to move slowly and at Bucky’s pace until he’s recognized Steve. Until then, Steve knows he could end up traumatizing him further if Steve interacts with him without his consent.

Steve stays still, letting Bucky grip his hand, keeping the rest of him still and away from Bucky and ignoring the pain in his back and knees.

*             *             *

Bucky keeps a tight grip on the hand once he’s put it on his stomach. He hopes he’s conveying his message through his grip: ‘you made a promise and if you hurt me, I’ll hurt you.’

The hand stays limp and obedient.

That’s good.

He loosens his grip a bit and explores that wonderful bracelet. Running his fingers over the beads and the notches, he starts to miss Steve a lot.

Oh, how he wishes Steve were here! But Steve isn’t here. He’s busy protecting Bucky Bear and Stevie Bear because Bucky’s the idiot who attracted the attention of the Shadow Monsters. So while Steve’s absence is understandable, it doesn’t mean Bucky doesn’t miss him desperately.

He rubs the bracelet, his thumb absentmindedly stroking the wrist the bracelet is wrapped around. That’s when he realizes something strange: the wrist isn’t the end of the hand! In fact, when he runs his hand a little bit further along the wrist, he realizes he can feel an entire forearm! What the hell is going on here?

But the answer occurs to him immediately: Steve didn’t just send him a hand to protect him. He’s sent him a whole arm! Of course he did! A whole other arm is a much better weapon to use against the Shadow Monsters than just a hand!

Oh, Rogers is a clever, clever kid!

Bucky pulls hard on the forearm so he can pull the whole arm under his blanket to keep it safe.

And that’s when things become even stranger, because the arm won’t come! Bucky knows he’s a bit weak, but it shouldn’t be this difficult. But no matter how much he pulls, the hand only moves a certain distance before it gets stuck. When he releases his grip on it, it slides back a bit, moving away from him. He repeats this multiple times and realizes the arm must be stuck on something outside the blankets.

Shit.

*             *             *

Steve braces himself against the floor with his other arm while Bucky weakly tugs on the hand Steve had given him. He’d rolled up the sleeve of his sweater so Bucky wouldn’t get confused by different textures, but he hadn’t counted on Bucky wanting his whole arm.

“What are you doing, Buck?” Steve mumbles, sniffing his tears back. “You can’t pull all of me onto your lap. What are you thinking, buddy, huh? You think it’s just a hand and nothing else? Well, there’s a lot more attached to that hand.”

Steve is a bit worried as Bucky keeps pulling on his hand, but he realizes this may be the perfect way for Bucky to recognize him and come out from under the blanket. He doesn’t want to touch Bucky with his other hand and risk scaring him, so he needs Bucky to come to him.

He knows Bucky’s brain isn’t in top shape right now, but his natural curiosity and his intelligence should make him want to explore what’s on the other end of the arm he’s pulling.


	96. Chapter 96

The stupid arm is definitely stuck. Are the Shadow Monsters trying to fight Bucky for it? That would make sense. They don’t want him having this new weapon to defend himself with. It would be very dangerous for Bucky to fight them for the arm. He’s not strong enough and they outnumber him.

But what if the arm is just stuck on something and it really, really wants to be under the blanket with Bucky, but it can’t get loose on its own? If that’s the case, he needs to help it before the Shadow Monsters return.

What to do? Another tough choice.

But Bucky decides he doesn’t want to risk the arm being hurt by staying out there. If the Shadow Monsters have grabbed hold of it, Bucky can try to fight them. He doesn’t have much fight left in him, but he needs to try. And if the arm just needs help and the Shadow Monsters aren’t out there, then he needs to help. He can’t leave it out there to suffer. That means putting his hand out from underneath the blanket, but it’s a risk he has to take. The arm is counting on him for help.

He rubs his fingers over the leather bracelet, thinking of Steve and giving himself strength, then he runs his fingers along the forearm, looking for where it ends.

There’s soft skin covering hard muscle and bone, some hair…and then there’s a big bump of fabric. Is this what the arm is stuck on? Bucky wiggles his fingers underneath the fabric and feels more skin. Oh. The arm must be wearing clothes. He decides to go over the top of the fabric and see where that ends.

Once he’s past the bump, the fabric gets thinner and when he presses his fingers against it, he can feel the heat and consistency of skin underneath it. So the arm is still here.

The arm seems to continue, but Bucky’s having problems now. His arm is stretched out as far as it can go so some adjustment is necessary. Putting his knees down is a risk, but it’s one he’ll have to take if he’s going to help the arm.

He lowers his knees and shifts a little closer to the arm. The hand is still lying limp on his belly and it follows his movements without any scratching or grabbing. That’s good. His trust in the hand is paying off so far. Smiling, Bucky becomes even more certain that the arm is his friend.

He runs his hand along the fabric of the sweater it’s wearing until he gets to a big shape that seems to be a shoulder. He rubs his hand over the shoulder, trying to feel the ends of it. If Steve had sent him arm to use, Bucky only needs the part that attaches to his own shoulder.

So why isn’t the shoulder the end?

There’s a lot of sweater fabric and skin and Bucky gently pokes and explores the big expanse of solid mass connected to the arm. He’s moved downwards for a while, so he decides to go upwards and see how tall the mass is.

To his surprise, he discovers the edge of the sweater and then there’s just skin again. There’s dips and hard ridges and it all feels a bit familiar, but Bucky’s focused on what his hand is telling him rather than trying to recall where he’s touched such things before.

There’s nothing but these hard bumps and dips beneath the skin...until he reaches hair. He definitely knows its hair.

He frowns. If there’s hair…that means there needs to be a head. Is there a head attached to the arm?! Did—did Steve send him a whole person to help him?!

Excitement blooms in his chest as he runs his fingers through the hair, searching for the person’s face. It’s not difficult to find. He recognizes the two eyes right away. Then there’s a nose. And there are lips below it. But something’s not right. The cheeks are wet. In fact, the eyes are wet too. The eyes close whenever Bucky’s fingers brush over them and when they open, more drops roll down the cheeks.

The face is crying.

But why? Why would the face be crying? Is the face scared of the Shadow Monsters? That must be it! But what can Bucky do to help it feel safe?

He thinks the answer should be obvious but he’s very tired.

His fingers continue gently exploring the face as his brain tries to think. How can he protect the face and the arm? How?

Oh! His blanket! Jesus, Barnes! That’s such an obvious answer!

Taking his hand off the face, he gropes for his blanket. He doesn’t want to just throw it over the face, since being under there alone may scare it. They’ll both hide underneath it so Bucky can protect the face and the arm. Everything is becoming clear now.

The arm didn’t bring him gifts as a present. It brought him gifts so Bucky would be willing to protect it. Well, Bucky doesn’t need to be bribed into protecting anybody, never mind an arm that’s wearing Steve’s bracelet. Steve must have wanted Bucky to protect the arm and the face, so that’s why he put the bracelet on it, to give Bucky a message.

It makes complete sense! It takes a lot of effort, but Bucky manages to pull the blanket off himself and over the face. He needs to shift around quite a bit, so he takes his Lamb’s Ear leaf and presses it into the hand on his belly so they stay together. Once the hand is obediently holding the leaf, Bucky continues tugging the blanket around the face and around his own head.

Even if the rest of them isn’t protected, the face scratching is the worst, so this way, both Bucky’s face and the other face will be protected.

*             *             *

“Ah…Steve?”

“It’s okay, Nat. Just let Buck do whatever he’s doing.”

“Can you breathe under there?”

It’s a valid question. It’s not overly dark, but the stench under the blanket is much worse than in the rest of the cell. Steve chokes and nearly gags, but keeps his breathing shallow and calm. He’ll get used to it eventually. “I’ll be fine.” Hopefully.

The way Bucky has flung the blanket over them, there’s a piece of blanket hanging down between them, but when Bucky brings his hand back to Steve’s face, he brushes the blanket aside, and Steve can finally see Bucky’s face.

For a crazy second, Steve doesn’t recognize him. He has no idea who this strange face belongs to. The lower half of Bucky’s face is covered in a scraggly, filthy beard that’s got bits of food stuck in it. His eyes are bloodshot and half-lidded from exhaustion. He’s pale, his lips are horribly dry and despite the beard hiding most of his face, Steve can tell he’s lost weight. His hair is greasy and pressed flat against his head from being under the blanket constantly.

“Oh, Buck,” he breathes out. He’s never seen Bucky look this bad. It brings a new lump to his throat and he feels more tears streaming down his face.

Bucky frowns when he feels the tears. He looks troubled by them and his gaze stares vacantly over Steve’s shoulder, as if he’s trying to come up with a solution.

Finally, Bucky runs his hand down Steve’s arm to his hand, where he’s dutifully holding onto the Lamb’s Ear plant. Bucky pulls the leaf out of Steve’s grasp, carefully places it on his own thigh and flattens Steve’s palm. Bucky’s shaking fingers spell out:

‘U saf. I prott u.’

Steve swallows a sob. He doesn’t want to scare Bucky by moving too much. Even with Bucky skipping over many letters and words, Steve knows what he’d tried to say: Bucky’s trying to reassure him that he’s safe and he’ll protect Steve. It’s clear that Bucky hasn’t recognized him and that Bucky’s scared of something in the cell hurting him and his new friend.

The only way Steve will get them home is if Bucky recognizes who he is and trusts him to bring him somewhere safe. But that means that Steve needs to stop crying. It’s no wonder that Bucky thinks he needs to protect Steve if he’s crying like this.

He takes deep breaths and forces himself to calm down. He closes his eyes for a few minutes, letting Bucky touch his face and his arm.

Once he’s calmed down, Steve gently turns his hand over and taps his finger tips on Bucky’s stomach, hoping to convey that he wants to talk to him. Bucky freezes at the movement, then brings his hand down to Steve’s.

Very gently, Steve flattens Bucky’s hand. He spells out: ‘I’m Steve.’

Bucky frowns, looking confused. Then he flips their hands over and carefully spells out: ‘Steve give brkipdd.’

Steve has no idea what that last word was supposed to be, but Bucky is clearly too exhausted and confused to spell properly. When Bucky taps the leather bracelet, Steve thinks he was probably trying to spell ‘bracelet’. In any case, Bucky has misunderstood what Steve was trying to say.

Steve opens his mouth to verbalize his answer as he spells, but catches himself just in time. He doesn’t want Bucky being scared by any extra movements. ‘No. I’m Steve,’ he spells out, moving his fingers very slowly and deliberately. Hopefully, Bucky can track what he’s spelling.

Bucky looks even more confused. ‘Steve not.’

Steve waits for him to finish spelling the rest of the sentence, but Bucky flips their hands over. He’s clearly done speaking and he hasn’t realized that his sentence doesn’t make any sense.

Maybe he was trying to spell out ‘Steve isn’t here’ or he’s accusing his new friend of not being Steve. Clearly, Bucky isn’t willing to believe him so quickly.

Very, very gently, Steve rubs the back of Bucky’s hand, then spells out ‘I’m Steve’ again.

Bucky looks even more exhausted and his eyes keep dropping shut for longer and longer periods. He’s getting weaker the more time goes by. But he’s frowning, indicating that he’s thinking over what Steve’s saying.

Steve waits, staring at Bucky. He knows the best way for Bucky to recognize him is through scent, but he doesn’t want to scare him by shoving his hand in his face. So he spells out: ‘Smell me’ and then lays his hand palm up on Bucky’s open hand.

Bucky shifts and looks more awake all of a sudden. Unfortunately, he also looks scared. His hand weakly grips Steve’s hand, but Bucky’s probably using all his strength. Bucky shakes his head, frowning unhappily.

Steve waits. He won’t rip his hand out of Bucky’s grip, but he’s out of ideas. He knows Bucky will recognize him when he smells him, so he just has to convince him to give it a try. But he won’t force him. If they haven’t gotten anywhere in a few minutes, Steve will ask Natasha to slide the water bottle under the blanket so Bucky can drink.

Bucky suddenly clenches his jaw, looks very fearful and puts Steve’s hand on the floor, pressing his weight on it, crushing Steve’s hand against the hard tiles. Steve keeps his hand limp and unmoving, obeying Bucky’s silent command.

Bucky moves his hand off just enough to spell out ‘No hurt’. He doesn’t add question mark, but whether he forgot it or deliberately didn’t want to phrase it as a question isn’t clear. But Steve knows what response he’s supposed to give. He gently wiggles his fingers, reminding Bucky that he needs his hand free in order to spell.

Releasing Steve’s hand, Bucky holds out his palm. Steve gently spells out ‘Never’. Thinking quickly, he also adds: ‘E-O-T-L’.

Those four letters have a remarkable effect on Bucky. His half-lidded eyes widen and he looks much more awake. His eyes dart around and Steve can practically see how hard he’s trying to think despite how sluggish his mind must be.

*             *             *

  1. O. T. L.



He knows those letters! He knows what that means! Did Steve tell the hand about it? Did he tell the face— No, Barnes, come on!

He’s gone through this a dozen times already. One more time: The hand and the face are connected; therefore, they belong to one person. He needs to stop thinking of them as separate things. Jesus.

So, did Steve tell this person about ‘end of the line’? Why would Steve do that? He’d know that Bucky would protect the face and—no, the _person_ —even if the person wasn’t associated with Steve. And telling a stranger such a personal thing doesn’t seem like Steve. He’d only tell somebody about that special phrase if he wanted to make sure that Bucky would pay attention and connect the phrase to Steve…

…which he did…

…but why? Why does he need to connect this person to Steve?

He feels like the answer should be obvious, but he so damn tired. He’s happy to protect the person, but he really thinks it’s time for a nap.

But why did the person want him to smell him? That’s such a bizarre thing to ask somebody. Bucky doesn’t just go around smelling people randomly. That’s rude and weird. Sure, he smells Steve all the time, but that’s because he likes smelling his familiar scent and gathering information about what he’s cooking, what shampoo he’s using...

There’s that coconut one that Bucky really…

Oh, he’s exhausted. It’s definitely time for a—

The hand—no, the _person’s hand_ —is spelling again.

‘E-O-T-L’.

‘I’m Steve’.

And then some other things Bucky is too tired to track. Why does this person keep insisting he’s Steve? Bucky’s proven that he’ll protect the person, regardless of who he is. He doesn’t need to pretend to be Steve.

So why…

It suddenly occurs to him that there’s a question he hasn’t asked himself. He’s been focusing on why the person is doing and spelling certain things…

…but he hasn’t asked himself the obvious question: Is this person Steve?

What if…

What if…

His breath catches in his throat. _What if this person is Steve?!_

But…how can Bucky be sure? Oh, scent! Is this why the person…

Anxious to prove or disprove his new theory—and barely allowing himself to consider that he might be right…that Steve might be sitting right across from him…that he might be holding Steve’s hand right now!—Bucky presses the hand onto the floor and repeats his earlier demand:

N-O.

H-U-R-T.

He knows what he needs to do in order to confirm who this person is. People can fake all sorts of things about themselves, but scent is something that’s very difficult to copy.

Not waiting for the hand to confirm—Bucky’s too anxious—he presses down on the wrist of the hand, right over that wonderful bracelet and leans all his weight on it. He’s very, very scared about bringing his face close enough to the hand—a hand that might scratch and grab—in order to smell it, but he has to.

Pushing down as hard as he can, he shifts around until he can lean down. He goes slowly, readying himself to jerk back in case the hand moves, but it stays relaxed and unmoving beneath his grip.

He tries sniffing when he’s above the hand, but he doesn’t get enough of the hand’s scent. He can’t smell the scent of urine around him anymore, but he knows it must be interfering with his sense of smell. Leaning closer and closer, he sniffs and prepares to yank himself back if the hand moves.

Finally, his nose bumps into the hand’s palm and the hand still hasn’t moved. He sniffs a few times and immediately recognizes Steve’s scent. His heart skips a few beats, but he refuses to allow himself to get overly excited without verifying this amazing discovery.

He presses his nose more firmly into the palm and inhales deeply. It’s confirmed. This is definitely Steve’s scent. But what if the person has done something to their hand to cover it in Steve’s scent? Sniffing one body part isn’t conclusive.

Keeping pressure on the hand so it won’t move to interfere, he sits up and leans closer to the person. It’s very scary. He knows he’s exposing himself to a lot of scratching and grabbing if this person is actually working with the Shadow Monsters, but he needs to know. His nose and forehead eventually bump into something hard. His nose has bumped into something fabric covered, so that must be the sweater.

Brushing his nose along the sweater, he searches for skin. When he finds the person’s neck, he sticks his nose against skin, inhaling deeply. And there it is again—Steve’s familiar scent. There’s the hint of earthy sandalwood scent that’s from their shaving soap and that spicy underlying scent that’s pure Steve. His skin is a bit moist—the person must be sweating. The sweat makes the scent stronger and sharper and Bucky recognizes this scent too. He knows how Steve smells when he sweats.

He rubs his nose along the person’s neck, drinking in that scent and feeling a glow of happiness getting brighter and brighter in his chest.

The person is Steve.

This is Steve.

This is his Stevie! He’s right here. He’s in the cell with him!

He’s about to release the trapped hand on the floor and wrap himself around Steve, but there’s a voice in his head, telling him that this still might be a trick. What if the Shadow Monsters are shapeshifters like in those science fiction books he used to read? What if they’re clever enough to copy people’s scents? What if they trapped Steve and stole his scent somehow?

Bucky jerks back from the person and puts a glare on his face, trying to convey the fact that he’s not an idiot and he won’t be fooled so easily.

He thinks about the situation. If this person is a shapeshifter, a Shadow Monster in disguise, then he’d look and smell like Steve and he might even know some things that Steve would know—like the fact that E-O-T-L is an important phrase to him—but they wouldn’t have had time to get his and Steve’s entire 30 year history out of Steve.

So there’s a good way to figure out if this person is really Steve or a fake Steve. He needs to ask questions that only the real Steve would know.

It takes quite a bit of thinking to come up with a question. In the middle of his thinking, he realizes he’d closed his eyes at some point, so maybe he had a short nap during the thinking process, but that’s okay. He doesn’t want to ask a yes or no question. It needs to be something specific. Or better yet, it should be a trick question! That’s a good idea! Good job, Barnes.

It seems to take forever, but he finally comes up with two good questions. He finds the person’s hand and carefully spells out his first question:

‘Ida’s friend’s name.’

Question mark.

He’s prepared to assess how long the hand takes before it answers—they may be communicating with Steve somehow—and a lengthy pause would be suspicious, but he’s barely finished with his question mark before his hand is being flipped over and a single name is being spelled out

‘M-A-R-Y’.

There was no hesitation at all. That’s good. Very good.

He decides to ask a trick question next.

‘How many pieces of chocolate would Mrs. R give us whenever Ned Tucker was mean to you when we played stickball?’

Playing stickball and having boys be mean to Steve wasn’t a rare occurrence—sadly—but Bucky had deliberately changed two vital pieces of information in that question.

The hand answers immediately, spelling slowly but confidently.

‘No chocolate. Taffy or caramel. One piece each. No Ned. Frankie.’

That’s a perfect answer. Perfect. The first time either of them had ever had chocolate was in the army, due to it being way more expensive than penny candy. And Ned Tucker long ago refused to let Steve play stickball with him—with other games he’d tolerate Steve, but stickball was important business in Ned’s eyes—so Frankie’s group of friends was their only access to stickball games.

There’s no way the Shadow Monsters would have gotten such information out of Steve. If this were a fake-Steve, he wouldn’t have caught the trick question.

There’s only one possible conclusion:

This is Steve.

Steve’s sitting right here, in front of him. His Steve is here. Steve is here!

Touching Steve’s chest, Bucky grabs his sweater in a weak grip and brings his nose back to Steve’s neck. He presses his face against his skin, breathing in his scent and feeling Steve’s pulse slowly thudding away beneath his lips.

Steve is here!

His heart is glowing with relief and happiness and he knows he’d be crying if he had any tears left. He’s not alone anymore! Steve will help him fend off the Shadow Monsters and he’ll bring some light back into Bucky’s dark world.

Bucky clings to Steve’s sweater and rubs his face against his neck, drinking in his scent.

He closes his eyes and prepares himself to take another nap, when suddenly—the Shadow Monsters wrap an arm around his back.

Bucky jerks back from Steve, fear racing down his spine and he cringes away from the touch. He releases Steve’s sweater and bats at the hand. The hand had immediately released him when he’d shifted, which is strange. Usually, they grab and scratch for a while before they leave him alone.

As soon as they’re gone, Bucky focuses back on Steve. He touches Steve’s sweater and runs his hand up to his face and explores it. Now that he knows who this is, he can recognize Steve’s face. Smiling, he finds Steve’s hand and spells out:

S-T-E-V-I-E.

In answer, the hand—Steve’s hand—gently taps, taps, taps on his hand.

Smiling with relief and feeling his heart glowing, Bucky goes back to touching Steve’s face and buries his nose into Steve’s neck. He can feel Steve smiling beneath his fingers and he keeps his hand on his lips, loving the feel of that smile.

*             *             *

Steve is unbelievably grateful that Bucky Barnes has always been a clever, clever fella with a very sharp mind.

Bucky’s questions had thrown Steve a bit. He hadn’t recognized Ida’s name right away, and Bucky had spelled ‘friend’ wrong, but Steve had realized that Bucky was asking questions about their past, probably to verify his identity.

The next question had been tough too. Bucky hadn’t spelled anything properly and the words were out of order, but Steve had pulled three words from the question: chocolate, Ned, stickball. None of those words belonged together. If they were part of the same question, then it had to be a trick question. Clever Barnes.

He’s very relieved that he’d correctly guessed what Bucky’s questions had been, because if Bucky had been spelling something other than what was in his head, this whole thing could have gone very badly.

But Bucky’s now pressed against him, his face pressed into Steve’s neck and his trembling, grimy hand touching Steve’s face. Without thinking, Steve had wrapped his other arm around Bucky to pull him close, but Bucky had reacted with fear immediately.

Steve realizes that Bucky may have forgotten about Steve’s other hand and he thinks somebody else—or something else—is touching him. He figures it would be best to initiate contact the way Bucky usually wants strangers to do it: touch Bucky’s hand and move from there.

So Steve carefully brings his hand to Bucky’s and touches the back of it. Bucky freezes at the unexpected contact, but Steve rubs the bracelet over the back of Bucky’s hand. Bucky explores the bracelet and then goes back to touching Steve’s face, apparently okay with Steve’s hand being there.

Steve gently drags his fingertips down Bucky’s arm, carefully monitoring the tension in Bucky’s body. Bucky’s hand stops moving on his face and he stays still, breathing into Steve’s neck, but he doesn’t pull away. Encouraged, Steve gently reaches Bucky’s shoulder, rubs it a bit, then moves back to his hand. He doesn’t want to stress Bucky out too much.

Obviously, being touched isn’t something Bucky’s on board with right now, so Steve doesn’t want to push him when he’s this weak. He needs to focus on bigger issues.

He takes Bucky’s hand off his face and asks him if he wants water.

Bucky stares off vacantly for a while, as if that’s a hard question to answer. Finally, he’s tapping on Steve’s hand.

Steve’s noticed that Bucky’s using hand signals for nearly all communication, even for things which he’d normally always do using other parts of him—like nodding or shaking his head. He’d only shaken his head when he’d been very scared. And he hasn’t made a sound since Steve had entered the cell.

He’s acting exactly the way they’d behaved when they’d been locked up together and they hadn’t wanted the spying cameras and microphones to capture any of their communication. It seems that this behavior has gotten stuck with Bucky.

But that’s an issue for another day.

“Nat, can you get the water bottle out of my bag and slide it under the blanket by my right hip, please?”

He hears clothes rustling, the backpack being unzipped and then there’s something cold being pressed against his right hip. Steve takes Bucky’s hand and gently tells him he brought him water.

Bucky’s eyes widen and his hand drops to the floor, searching. Steve had deliberately gotten Natasha to put the bottle close to where he’d left Bucky’s watch and the leaf, so Bucky finds the bottle quickly.

Unfortunately, the bottle is heavy and it slips from Bucky’s grasp. Bucky tries again, but the bottle falls from his grip as soon as he’s gotten half-way to his mouth. He looks devastated.

Steve gently touches Bucky’s hand and rubs the bracelet against the back of it before Bucky can get scared. He asks Bucky if he can help him. After Bucky taps a few times, Steve gently pops the nub open on the bottle ignoring the water that leaks onto his pants.

Grabbing the bottle, Steve brings it to Bucky’s face, but he realizes his mistake as soon as he nudges the nub against Bucky’s lips and Bucky jerks back, fearfully.

“Shit! Sorry, Buck. Sorry! I forgot.” Damn it, Rogers! He knows better than that!

He puts the bottle down and gently touches Bucky’s hand. Thankfully, Bucky doesn’t seem scared of his hand. He doesn’t seem to be connecting the other random touches with Steve.

Steve asks him if they can hold the bottle together. Bucky still looks fearful and upset, but he must be thirsty enough to push that aside. He taps Steve’s hand and allows Steve to lead their hands to the bottle. He wraps Bucky’s weak grip around it and covers his hand with his own. Taking Bucky’s index finger, he presses it lightly against the nub and holds it there.

He brings the bottle to Bucky’s lips, feeling that Bucky’s arm is slack and completely incapable of moving the bottle. He moves slowly and carefully, giving Bucky plenty of warning, and when their fingers nudge against Bucky’s lips, he’s not taken by surprise this time.

They move their fingers away and Bucky’s lips immediately wrap around the nub and he starts drinking. Even though he must be incredibly thirsty, Steve pulls back the bottle after a few sips to let Bucky swallow properly.

Bucky lets out a tiny sound of protest—it’s barely more than a weak breath, and he seems unaware that he made the sound—but it’s the first sound he’s made since Steve came into the cell.

Steve gently squeezes his hand around the bottle and rubs soothing circles on the back of his hand with his thumb to reassure him. When Bucky’s taken a few breaths and swallowed the water properly, Steve brings the bottle back for a few more sips.

He pulls the bottle back when it’s half-way empty. He doesn’t want Bucky throwing up and making himself feel worse. Putting the bottle down, he gently squeezes Bucky’s hand. Good job, Buck.

Bucky closes his eyes and licks his lips, smiling happily. He squeezes Steve’s hand back, which is a great sign.

Steve thinks it’s time to ask Bucky if he’s ready to go home. If Bucky freaks out, he’ll ask Natasha to get the cell set up so he and Bucky can stay here for the night. Either way, he needs to get them out from under the blanket and let Bucky rest properly.

Before he can ask Bucky if he wants to go home, Bucky decides to ask his own questions. It’s difficult to figure out exactly what he’s trying to spell, but Steve immediately catches some key words: Stevie, Bucky, bear, safe.

The word ‘bear’ rarely comes up in their conversations unless they’re talking about Bucky Bear and Stevie Bear stories. He doesn’t understand why Bucky’s asking if the characters from their stories are safe and what they need to stay safe from—their stories never feature big villains, just the normal mean neighborhood boys they grew up with—but Bucky seems very anxious about getting an answer.

Well, the answer to that is simple. Whenever the young Bears encounter a mean bully, they always go home to Ma Bear and she gives them candy, plays games with them and generally makes them feel better. The Bear stories that take place in Brooklyn tend to reflect their real lives a lot.

He tells Bucky that yes, the Bears are safe. They’re with Ma Bear.

Bucky asks him the same question again and Steve repeats himself. The Bears are safe, they’re at home with Ma Bear.

Frowning, Bucky asks Steve if he’s sure. He asks something with the word ‘shadow’, but Steve assumes that’s a spelling mistake. Steve promises that he’s telling the truth: the Bears are safe and at home. Ma Bear is taking care of them. They’re fine. Stevie Bear and Bucky Bear are safe.

Bucky looks very relieved and his face crumbles as if he wants to cry, but no tears appear. He slumps against Steve again and buries his face in Steve’s neck, breathing against his skin.

Thinking that he can use the Bears as a distraction, Steve asks Bucky if he wants to go home. He can check on the Bears himself.

Bucky seems a bit confused by that. He writes the word home multiple times. Steve doesn’t know what he’s confused about, but he pushes forward. He tells Bucky that the Bears are at home with Ma Bear and Maggie, waiting for Bucky. They can all play punchball together.

That seems to be the right thing to say, because Bucky sits up immediately, a smile on his face. He flips their hands around and spells out Maggie’s name and some nonsense.

It’s too risky to give specific responses when he can’t tell exactly what Bucky’s trying to say, so Steve keeps repeating himself, telling Bucky that the Bears and Maggie are waiting at home for him. They can go home right now if he wants to.

Bucky excitedly taps Steve’s hand. Steve’s about to fling the blanket off them, when he realizes that it might make Bucky panic. He asks him if he can remove the blanket.

Right away, Bucky frowns fearfully. He rubs the back of Steve’s hand and tells him that the blanket protects them from shadow. Well, he spells it S-A-D-O, but Steve can’t think of what else that word might represent. The fact that Bucky’s repeated the word multiple times now and always spells it the same way makes Steve think it’s something important. He can’t even begin to guess at what it might mean, but it doesn’t really matter right now. Steve understand the general direction of Bucky’s thoughts.

He tells him there’s no shadow here right now. Steve has checked and there’s nothing around them. They have a clear path and they can get home if they hurry. No shadows will interfere if they go now.

Despite Bucky’s fear, that familiar look of determination appears on his face. Clenching his jaw, he flips their hands around and tells Steve they must hurry. He touches the watch on his chest and then moves his hand around, probably searching for the Lamb’s Ear leaf. It’s still on Bucky’s thigh, so Steve gently nudges it closer to Bucky’s searching hand until he finds it. Steve asks if he can put the leaf into his bag where it’ll be safe. Bucky taps his hand, looking happy about that.

Steve holds his hand out from under the blanket, the leaf on his palm. “Nat? Can you put this leaf and the bottle back into my bag and move it away from the door? I think Buck’s ready to go.”

“Yup. Hang on.”

The water bottle disappears, as does the leaf from his palm and he hears rustling.

“Okay, everything’s ready. There’s nothing between you guys and the doorframe.”

“Thanks, Nat.”

Steve asks Bucky if he’s ready to get out from under the blanket, to which Bucky responds with taps. Taking several deep breaths--probably to steel himself—Bucky grabs the blanket, flings it off himself and immediately starts shuffling forward on his knees, his hand held out in front of him and the rest of him hunched over. Unfortunately, he’s heading in the direction of the sink, not he door.

Shit.

Steve scrambles after him and Natasha pulls her knees up where she’s sitting on the bed so she’s out of their way. Steve touches Bucky’s hand and Bucky stops shuffling but stays curled up, only his hand staying outstretched so Steve can talk to him.

Steve reminds him that the door is in the other direction.

They have a back and forth discussion with Bucky insisting that the door is closed and Steve reassuring him that it’s open.

Steeling himself again, Bucky turns around and shuffles towards the door. Eventually, Bucky’s knees bump into the door frame and after a thorough exploration, Bucky must realize he’s reached the doorway. Bucky reaches back a hand, as if he’s searching for Steve.

Steve holds out his hand and Bucky weakly pulls on it. The message: Hurry up, Rogers. Keep up.

Once Steve’s tapped on Bucky’s hand, Bucky crawls over the doorframe and shuffles across the hallway on his knees, his hand outstretched and moving around to search for any obstacles he might bump into. To anybody watching him, it might seem like Bucky knows exactly where he’s going, but Steve knows it’s mostly adrenalin that’s keeping Bucky moving and his brain is half-asleep from exhaustion.

Steve hurries after him and squeezes Bucky’s outstretched hand to get him to stop. He points out they’ll get home much faster if they’re on their feet.

Bucky’s not happy with that. He looks upset and fearful again and spells nonsense words along with that word ‘shadow’ again. Maybe he’s worried that the shadows will hurt him if he’s not shuffling close to the ground.

Steve reminds him that the shadows aren’t here. That’s why they have to hurry. Bucky doesn’t have to worry about protecting himself from them, he just has to worry about moving quickly.

Bucky’s eyes dart all over the place as he thinks that over. Steve waits, knowing Bucky will see his logic eventually. Sure enough, Bucky taps on Steve’s hand and stands up.

Or rather, he tries to. He must have spent days on the floor without moving a lot and his legs are very weak. He collapsed into a heap as soon as he’s got one leg up. Steve is about to grab him, but pulls back his hands at the last second. The last thing he wants is for Bucky to think that his hands are these shadows. That’ll bring this whole thing to a grinding halt.

Hitting the floor hard, Bucky makes a face and lets out a faint sound. He stays where he is, looking upset. Steve knows he’s worried about moving too slowly and putting himself and Steve into danger if the shadows return. Gently touching Bucky’s hand and rubbing his bracelet against it, Steve waits until Bucky has turned his hand up, ready to listen.

Steve tells him Bucky can hold onto his arm or Steve can carry him.

Bucky thinks it over. He’s taking a very long time to think and his eyes are staying shut for longer periods, so Steve gently squeezes his hands to keep him awake. That makes Bucky blink and frown.

Steve repeats his earlier question and Bucky eventually tells him he wants Steve’s arm.

Knowing that Bucky clinging to his arm isn’t enough help, Steve asks if he’s willing to let both of Steve’s arms help, not just one.

Bucky frowns in confusion and Steve gently presses the bracelet from his other hand against Bucky’s forearm. Bucky startles from the touch—Steve’s earlier assumption that Bucky has forgotten about Steve having two arms is confirmed—but he immediately explores the bracelet, moving back and forth between Steve’s two arms. He thoroughly touches each finger and the bracelets before he taps on each hand.

Holding onto one of Steve’s arms, Bucky hauls himself up. Steve keeps that arm solid and brings his other hand to Bucky’s clinging one. He touches the bracelet against the back of his hand and gently slides his hand along Bucky’s arm, around his back and gently wraps his hand around Bucky’s side, pressing the bracelet against his ribs.

Bucky is tense at the hand’s movements, but he doesn’t jerk away, having connected the movement of the hand with the bracelet. He must have realized that it’s Steve’s hand sliding across his back. Steve taps on Bucky’s side, telling him he’s ready to go.

Slowly, Bucky starts to shuffle forward. He’s moving painfully slowly. One slipper shuffles forward a few inches, then stops, there’s a pause and then the other slipper moves. Bucky’s body is trembling from exertion and his grip on Steve’s arm is weak. It’s only Steve’s other arm wrapped around his back and side that’s keeping him upright.

Steve knows it’s probably not fear that’s keeping Bucky slow, but pure exhaustion. He’s probably too tired to worry about where he’s going or bumping into anything.

Natasha appears in the doorway of the cell, the backpack tossed over her shoulder. Steve gives her a smile. “I think we’re on our way,” he says, speaking softly enough that Bucky won’t notice.

“Looks like it.”

Steve notices that two guards are leaning against the wall at the end of the hallway, watching him. Neither of them are Sanchez.

“Is there anything we can do to help, sir?” One of them asks.

Steve snorts softly. “You guys have done enough, thanks. Don’t touch him or me.”

One of the guards opens his mouth as if to say something, but the other elbows him in the ribs and shakes his head.

Their slow shuffle is taking forever and Bucky seems to be getting weaker as they go, but Steve won’t disrespect him by insisting on carrying him until he acknowledges that his legs won’t keep him going. For now, they’re walking and moving forward. That’s all that matters.

Steve loses track of time as they shuffle. He’s focused on keeping a tight grip on Bucky, assessing his body language and watching Bucky’s slippers slowly slide over tiny portions of floor. It’s actually a surprise when they get to the fork in the hallway and Steve gently pulls Bucky into taking a very wide turn which Bucky doesn’t seem to notice.

Natasha is following behind them and the guards are in front, opening the security doors when they close enough. Finally, they’re in the front hall and Natasha heads outside to call a hackie.

Sanchez is waiting for them in the hallway, staring at his phone with a bored expression. He looks up and lets out an annoyed sigh when he sees them. “Fucking finally. Jesus.” He gets up and points at the side room. “Barnes has to get changed.”

Steve snorts. “That’s not happening and you know it.”

“He’s wearing SHIELD property.”

“Oh, don’t worry, you’ll get his clothes back, but not today.” Steve has no intention of letting these idiots bill him for ‘stealing’ SHIELD property and he’s looking forward to mailing the filthy, urine soaked clothes back to them, knowing Sanchez will be in charge of putting them into the wash. Even if Sanchez throws them out, he’ll have to open the bag to figure out what’s in it and he’ll have to fill out paperwork to explain why he’s throwing them out.

But one thing’s clear. Bucky can’t handle the stress of getting changed, nor does he have the energy.

Sanchez rolls his eyes, calls Steve a rude name and grabs a clipboard from the chair next to him. “Barnes has to sign himself out.”

Steve had been prepared for this. “That’s not happening either. He’s not in any condition to be aware of what he’s signing and why. Put the papers in the mail and he’ll sign them when he’s recovered.”

“Rogers, we have procedures.”

“So does Barnes. And he ain’t signing something when he’s exhausted and confused. If your superiors don’t like that, you can explain that this is the price they pay for torturing somebody. We’re leaving and you’re gonna have to deal with that.”

Sanchez sighs with annoyance. “Can’t you just sign for him? It’s just one little signature.”

Steve has no desire to give SHIELD that satisfaction. “Nope.” It occurs to him that technically, he has no legal right to sign anything on Bucky’s behalf anyway. But even if he had that right, he’d refuse on principle. SHIELD is more worried about their stupid paperwork than what they’d done to Bucky.

Their paperwork and procedures can rot in hell.

They’ve reached the doors, and to Steve’s surprise, the two young guards are still keeping pace with them, each holding one of the double doors open so Steve and Bucky have a wide opening to get through. Steve purposefully doesn’t thank them.

Once they’re outside, Steve sees Natasha waiting by a hackie.

“Nat, did you tell him about the smell?”

Natasha smiles grimly. “Oh, he’s looking forward to it.”

Steve knows what that means. Natasha paid the man a lot more money than the trip would normally cost. Getting Bucky into the hackie is a bit difficult. Bucky doesn’t seem to have realized that they’re outside and he looks scared and confused when Steve pulls him to a stop and explains about the hackie.

But Steve reminds him that the hackie will ensure that they get home to the Bears and Maggie faster and speed is important, isn’t it?

Bucky can’t find fault in that logic apparently, so he allows Steve to take his hand and they explore the open hackie door and the seat. Bucky climbs into the car and Steve ducks in after him. Bucky curls up against Steve immediately and grabs one of Steve’s hands. Deciding not to stress Bucky out even more, Steve keeps his other arm slung along the back of the seats and away from Bucky.

Natasha is peering at them from outside the hackie. “You two good?”

“Yup.”

She shuts the door, gets into the front seat and tells the driver their address.

Steve is about to ask Bucky if he wants more water, but when he feels Bucky’s grip on his hand slacken and looks down, he sees that Bucky is fast asleep with his face pressed against Steve’s chest.

He feels relief for the first time all day. No matter what happens now, Bucky is out of SHIELD’s grasp and safe. In a little while, he’ll be even safer. Steve desperately wants to wrap his arms around Bucky and kiss his hair, but he restrains himself.

Keeping his breathing even and his arms and hands still, he doesn’t move while the hackie winds through traffic and Bucky sleeps.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Touch me with your words...](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10823220) by [LABB](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LABB/pseuds/LABB)
  * [I love you, Buck](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11997192) by [yoklmn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoklmn/pseuds/yoklmn)
  * [[Art] "Holding your words in my hand" inspired by Diamond Raven](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14089953) by [Royal_Ermine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Royal_Ermine/pseuds/Royal_Ermine)
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